


Let Me Take Care of You

by mitsuuu



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: AMAB Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Anal Sex, Bathtub Sex, Bloodhound Headcanons (Apex Legends), Blow Jobs, Bottom Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Bottom Mirage | Elliott Witt, Breakfast in Bed, Bubble Bath, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, Health Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Making Out, Nipple Licking, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Protective Elliott Witt, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, Smut, Top Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Top Mirage | Elliott Witt, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 67,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsuuu/pseuds/mitsuuu
Summary: An incident on the battlefield compromises Bloodhound’s health. Caring deeply for them, Elliott is personally keen on seeing them get better. He convinces Bloodhound to let him take care of them, and they quickly grow fond of having him around.
Relationships: Bloodhound & Mirage | Elliott Witt, Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 97
Kudos: 312





	1. Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! Hope you are all keeping safe and healthy <3
> 
> I've had this idea rolling around in my head since the Bloodhound short was released. Thought it might be interesting to speculate that the reason they wear the respirator is because they developed respiratory issues after inhaling that terrible coolant. 
> 
> Rated Explicit for future chapters.
> 
> Please kudos, comment and enjoy! <3

The final minutes of any match came down to focus and execution. Every move mattered. Every play counted. If a team could not deliver as a unit, defeat would be inevitable. Mirage, Wraith and Bloodhound were teamed up, each of them familiar with the others’ capabilities and characteristics. It made battling together relatively easy, though the fights themselves had been anything but. Their enemies fought with equal hunger for the win, pushing them to perform to their limit. Thankfully, every time, they came out on top. Their chances seemed promising.

The next ring was in the swamps of King’s Canyon. En route, the golden glow of an enemy deathbox tore Mirage from the group. To say his squadmates had been frustrated was an understatement, and he feared they might actually leave him behind when he announced that the legendary item in the deathbox was only a fancy scope. Luckily, he caught up to them a second before the ring closed. They slid to a halt beneath a building, listening as enemy bootsteps thudded against the wooden floorboards above their heads. Their by-the-skin-of-their-teeth arrival meant they were at a tactical disadvantage.

“Shit,” Mirage swore between panting breaths. “That was… _almost_ bad.”

Wraith’s eyes were like ice as they met his. “ _Almost_ bad? That _was_ bad. We can’t afford another close call like that. Not this close to the end. You almost blew it for us.”

Mirage pushed his lips into a pout, uncomfortably shifting his weight in the sludge of swamp water soaking him up to his knees. “My bad, alright? I thought we had time! I was _trying_ to do us a favor. What if it was a body shield? Or a helmet? You’d be thanking me!”

“Doubtful. We could’ve lost you, Mirage, and we wouldn’t have been able to revive you.”

He clasped both hands against his heart and pretended to melt. “Awww, so is that what this is about? You guys would’ve missed me?! I’m blushing.”

She rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. “Unbelievable.”

A barrage of gunfire burst around them. Mirage flinched, shooting panicked eyes over his shoulder. The swamps erupted into a cacophony of callouts and gunshots as surrounding squads engaged in what had to be the final battle. Bloodhound divided their attention from the battlefield to their team, their fingers flexing in anticipation against their weapon. “That is enough, _felagi_ fighters. We will find no victory in quarrel. _Focus_.”

Mirage exchanged a playful glare with Wraith and then turned his eyes to Bloodhound. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Hound. Time to get our heads back in the game.” Crouching at their side, he scouted, his eyes tracking enemy movement. He let out a low whistle. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“There is one squad to the West and two to the East,” Bloodhound noted.

Wraith frowned. “We’re pinched.” Her eyes sharpened as her mind flooded with whispers from the void. “It’s too dangerous to move now. We should wait until one drops. When the final two engage, we can advance. For now, we’re safe here.”

Bloodhound acknowledged with a nod. “Yes. We must wait. The element of surprise will aid us.”

Mirage felt a smile pull at a corner of his mouth. It was incredible. Even when faced with battle, Bloodhound had an ease about them. It puzzled him. He had questioned them about it before and found their answer equally as puzzling – mentions of unquestioning belief in the Allfather and unconditional acceptance of a fate destined to be theirs. They were a skilled, proud fighter whose calm, humble demeanor could easily fool the unsuspecting. They moved like no other Legend – downing hostiles with the accuracy of a sharpshooter, moving swiftly with the grace of a dancer, eliminating targets with the brutality of a beast. Watching them battle was captivating.

An opposing squad soon met its end. The final two engaged almost immediately. Recognizing their opportunity, Wraith acted. Wisps of energy danced off of her as she punched a tunnel, advancing toward the battle ahead. She skirted past areas within enemy eyeshot, ducking beneath buildings and weaving between reeds. Halting beneath the structure where their enemies fought, she placed the end of the portal at the bottom of a flight of stairs, setting them up for the perfect surprise attack.

“Portal’s ready.”

Bloodhound approached the portal at once, entering it without hesitation. Mirage took a breath before he followed, holding it for the entirety of the interdimensional ride. Whispers and white noise filled his ears until he tripped out of the exit with a gasp. The hunter took a moment to assess, a gloved hand signaling for them to wait. Anticipation swelled in Mirage, his foot tapping anxiously against the ground. He was eager to fight. He was eager to win, and the sounds of exchanging gunfire and grenades only made him hungrier to take to the field with his team.

When another squad fell, Bloodhound signaled for them to push. “Now.”

Wraith hurried first up the wooden stairs, her submachine gun aimed and ready. “Surprise.”

Mirage stepped out from behind her, twirling his shotgun like a double-barreled baton. “Look who’s here to crash the party!”

Wraith fired at the nearest enemy – Lifeline. Caught off guard, the medic spun upon impact and failed to steady her weapon in time to return fire. A hailstorm of bullets tore through her body shield, dropping her in seconds. From her position on the roof, Bangalore watched with fire in her eyes as her teammate was downed and replaced by a deathbox. The soldier clenched her jaw and aimed her sniper for Wraith, following her movements through the sights of her scope. The reticle ended up landing on Mirage who stood out in the open beside Lifeline’s deathbox, presumptively rifling for loot. With a smirk, Bangalore steadied her Kraber and fired. Her confidence instantly faded when he dissipated into thin air.

_A decoy._

“Damnit,” she swore, searching the swamps for a sign of the actual trickster. She spotted him beside Bloodhound. The pair fired at her, shots from either rifle striking her in the torso. Her shields flickered as she ducked down, looking over her shoulder at her teammate crouched behind her. “Octane – take care of ‘pretty boy.’ I’ve got Bloodhound.”

“Right away!” The daredevil was standing before she even finished speaking, bouncing eagerly on his feet. Throwing a jump pad, he gave himself a running start and launched into the air. His dismount was anything but graceful as he landed in front of Mirage, softening his impact with an impressive tuck-and-roll. “Alright, _compadre!_ Bring it on. I’m dying for a challenge!”

Mirage let out a laugh. “Hey – you ask, I deliver.”

He pointed his Peacekeeper, smirking as the Precision Choke whirred and charged. Anticipating the incoming blast, Octane narrowly evaded the shot with a pivot. He returned fire with a wild laugh, adrenaline coursing hotly through him like a shot of stim. A second shot compromised a chunk of his shields. He hid behind a beam to reload and recharge, turning his head to talk smack over his shoulder. “I said a challenge, _amigo!_ _Ándale!_ You can do better than that!”

“Aren’t we a little demanding?” Mirage playfully chided. With a finger gun, he sent out a decoy. The duplicate trotted past Octane, disintegrating into thin air the moment he fell for the trick and fired. The trickster slapped his knee as an overdramatic laugh rocked him, a hand lifting to flick away a nonexistent tear. “Oh-ho-ho, _man!_ Gets me every time.”

Octane emerged from his cover, releasing a battle cry as he riddled Mirage with bullets. The trickster deployed a number of decoys and vanished from sight, scrambling to climb up an open supply bin and hoist himself onto the roof. Recalling Bangalore’s position on the roof a few feet away, he first took a second to locate her. She was occupied with Bloodhound, the crack of her sniper answering the pop of their rifle. With the coast clear – for now – he de-cloaked, but remained hidden to hurriedly recharge his shields. Octane stabbed himself with a dose of stim, his bionic legs propelling him forward and up onto the roof with surprising speed.

Mirage stood, grimacing as the daredevil unloaded an entire magazine into his chest. He watched in panic as his shields were quickly depleted. Before his health could be equally compromised, he brandished his shotgun. He fired, sending Octane stumbling backwards. With plenty of fight still in him, the daredevil tried to hop up and take aim, though a second shot sent his weapon spinning from his hands. Mirage gave a cheeky laugh, lowering himself down to Octane’s side. “Don’t beat yourself up. You tried your best.” He beamed his signature smile and stood, preparing to take the final shot. “Still wasn’t enough to beat me.”

He curled his finger around the trigger. Game, set, match – just about. The win was basically theirs. Lifeline was out. Octane was next, leaving Bangalore to fend for herself in a one-on-three matchup that would likely end in her defeat. It was a done deal, and even if they hadn’t been named “champion” yet, he couldn’t fight back a grin. The thrill of a win never got old. Everything about it – the dopamine rush, the validation, the glory. He was on top of the world.

Until the crack of a sniper rifle cut the air.

It echoed in his ears until it was all he could hear. Time seemed to slow. He shot wide eyes toward the origin of the sound. Bangalore. She pumped her fist and let out a cheer. “Hell yeah! Tango down!” 

Mirage felt his heart sink. He spun on his heel and abandoned Octane, knowing the downed daredevil no longer stood a chance. Tango down? Who was down? Wraith? Bloodhound? A well-placed shot from a Kraber could be more than just incapacitating. He had seen it debilitate Legends for days in the infirmary, and the thought of that happening either one of them was unnerving.

It took him only a second to spot Wraith. She whisked by him, her sights set on the daredevil scrambling away on his hands and heels. She flung herself onto the roof and eliminated him with a single shot between the eyes. Her attention then shot to Mirage. Normally not one to falter, there was unease in her eyes. It made his chest tighten. “Bloodhound needs a hand,” she urged. “ _Now_.”

He didn’t question her. He didn’t hesitate. He ran, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs and into dark, shallow water. His boots dredged through weeds and reeds, his panicked eyes darting through the thickness of the fog for any sign of the downed hunter. If there was anything he knew about them, it was their tendency to subdue their pain. They did not vocalize it. He had seen them endure entire battles with awful wounds, making no mention of them until the match concluded. If anything, the hunter preferred to tend first to their teammates, offering extra med kits and syringes at their own expense. To him, their selflessness was a testament not only to their character, but to their strength.

Either way, it worried Mirage. He did not like knowing they had been in pain and neglected to say as much. He had mentioned it to them in the past, poorly disguising his tremendous worry as friendly concern. But, there was no use trying to hide it. Bloodhound had picked up on the way his words tumbled out of a soft spot in his heart. Their hand had provided him some comfort when it fell on his shoulder, along with the whispered words assuring they would be alright.

But, now, such was the contrary. They were not alright. He had to find them. Help them. But, he couldn’t find a trace of them. As seconds of searching turned into minutes, dread started to twist his stomach into knots. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His open mouth felt dry, his breathing choppy and rapid. Behind him, gunshots ceased. He didn’t stop to look. He couldn’t. He had to believe Wraith had succeeded. He had to believe they’d won. His mind could not focus on anything other than finding Bloodhound.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted. “Hound?! Hound, where are you?!”

Resounding silence – heavy, deafening, disheartening.

He tried again, shouting louder. “Hound!”

Not far away, he heard a noise. It was barely audible, like a whimper from a wounded animal. Mirage flicked his eyes in the direction of the sound, letting his feet carry him forward. Was that them? It had to be them. Who else could it be? Worry gripped him, his voice hoarse as he called out for them over and over again. Picturing them in pain hurt almost as much as the guilt that gripped him. He wished he had found and helped them already. He wanted – _needed_ – to see them and make sure they were okay.

Spotting a figure slumped over in the water, he froze. The silhouette was unmistakable.

Mirage gasped. “Hound!”

He rushed to their aid, neverminding his disgust for the muckiness of the water as he knelt at their side. The small noises leaving their lips broke him. Bloodhound writhed in the shallow swamp, their body shuddering as wave after wave of pain crashed over them. Their breathless words were incoherent pleas in their native tongue, impossible for him to comprehend apart from the desperation in their tone. The shot from the sniper rifle had embedded itself in their left shoulder. The surrounding layers of clothing and gear were worn after withstanding a significant amount of the damage. Blood oozed and trickled into the water, spreading thinly over the surface.

Mirage muttered to himself in frantic disbelief, his arms weaving carefully around their frame. Tearing his scarf from his neck, he applied controlled pressure in an effort to slow the bleeding. He nearly withdrew his hand when a spasm of coughs rocked their body, their gloved hand shooting out to grip his arm hard enough to leave a bruise. Their chest rattled with every rise and fall, their fingers tightening as they fought to control their labored breaths.

He set a hand over theirs, worry heavy in his hazel eyes. “Hey, hey. I’m here. Alright? It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Their effort to speak was inhibited by another fit of coughs. Every breath felt heavier than the next. Their chest felt tight and aflame. Their lungs burned with every struggled attempted to take in more air. Gritting their teeth, they hid their face against his chest and let out a strained groan. Mirage watched in horror. He felt hopeless. He could do nothing to alleviate their pain. It shattered him to watch them suffer. Bloodhound never looked so vulnerable, so _human_. They always radiated pride and power. To see them like this felt like a nightmare.

He brought his face close to their helmet, his voice as calm as it could be. “Look at me. Try to take a breath with me. C’mon,” he pleaded in a whisper, trying to look where their eyes might be. “Please, Hound. Look at me.”

Bloodhound declined, not out of disrespect, but out of fatigue. Gently, he tried to turn their face. They did not resist, letting him turn their head until the front of their helmet faced him. Fear replaced the worry in his eyes. In its trajectory, the shot had also pierced their respirator. The mask covering their mouth and nose hung loosely from their face. The respirator’s punctured tubing hissed as air leaked out, rendering the apparatus entirely useless. Their exposed lips quivered in strained attempts to capture breath. Their body heaved and contracted, their hand trembling as they tried to fix the mask back onto their face. There was no use. Mirage took their hand in his, feeling his heart shatter like glass.

“I’ve got you, Hound. Just relax, okay?” he said softly. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Bloodhound whined in response. He couldn’t tell if it was in protest or in pain. Their body began to grow limp in his arms. Terrified, he squeezed their hand again. “Hound? Hound? Hound, c’mon now. Don’t fall asleep on me.” The pinpricks of tears started to sting his eyes. He drew in a deep breath and looked aside, fighting the emotions that wanted to spill out. This wasn’t the end for them. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t let his mind go there. He had to hold out hope.

Wraith materialized from the void in front of him, her splashing footsteps coming to a halt beside her squadmates. Her eyes darted over them, making a quick assessment of the hunter lying weak in his arms. She looked up at Elliott and made no mention of the tears shimmering in his eyes. His worry for them was tangible. It was selfless, a genuine expression of how much he cared. Offering her reassurance, Wraith set a hand on his arm. “They’ll be alright, Elliott. The dropship’s inbound. Not much longer.”

Mirage gulped down the lump in his throat and nodded. He tried to calm down, blinking away his tears before they could fall. He tried to find comfort in her words. Help was on the way and it would not be much longer until they were treated. Looking down at them, he wove his arms tighter around them. He could have sworn he heard his name leave their lips in a shallow breath, prompting him to give their hand another squeeze. They would be fine. They had to be fine. He had to believe someone with Bloodhound’s unshakable strength would not let this be their end. They would recover and rise with newfound might – and he was determined to personally see it through.


	2. The Doctor Is In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! 
> 
> I meant to update this sooner. Work got way busy and I couldn't seem to find enough time to write! 
> 
> Thank you for all of the love :) It keeps me going and inspires me to keep working on this story for you all. 
> 
> In this chapter, I try my best to describe how their respirator seems to work. I used this image I came across as a reference: https://www.therpf.com/forums/threads/apex-legends-bloodhound.300934/. Again, I tried my best :) Some headcanon liberties taken LOL. 
> 
> Enjoy! And please kudos and comment <3

At last, the final repair on the respirator was complete. The air leak on the punctured tubing silenced, giving Elliott immediate relief. He pushed the hair from his brow and blew out a breath he had been holding, his smile wide and bright. While his specialties lied in holo-technology – quite a far cry from the mechanics involved in Bloodhound’s breathing apparatus – his technical brain had quickly grasped an understanding of how it worked. Two tubes extended from the oxygen mask of their helmet. The thinnest of the two curved shortly above their right shoulder before connecting to the thicker tube, which looped beneath their armpit and wrapped around their torso. The thicker tube then connected to a canister on their back, which he assumed assisted them with their breathing. The mask could be detached from the rest of the helmet, allowing them to use and carry the respirator when out-of-gear. Once the mechanisms of the apparatus had become clear, fixing it came relatively easily. He had been sure to work carefully and deliberately, ensuring every damaged part and widget was thoroughly examined.

All that remained was re-attaching the oxygen mask. He cradled the back of their helmet, keeping their head steady as he slowly fixed it over their mouth and nose. It clicked into place and suctioned with a quiet hiss, restoring the flow of air. Elliott threw his hands up and let out a cheer. “Woo! Nailed it. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Just call me a jack of all trades, because there’s _nothin’_ this guy can’t do!” 

Sat beside him, Ajay shut him up with an elbow to the ribs. “Nothin’, except for _‘be quiet.’_ How many times do I need to tell you? They’re _restin’_.”

Elliott nearly yelped, but bit his tongue before he made a sound. He rubbed his side with a pout, turning his eyes to Bloodhound to make sure he hadn’t disturbed them. To no one's surprise, the hunter hadn’t budged. For hours, they had been asleep, thoroughly taxed from the battle in the swamps. The dropship had arrived shortly after they had lost consciousness. Medics had rushed them, practically prying them from his arms as they exchanged urgent commands. Their condition had wavered between critical and stable, and his concern only doubled when he was denied access to see them in the infirmary. The medics firmly respected their preference for privacy, forcing him to reluctantly return home. He had avoided an onslaught of media begging for an interview. His headspace was off. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of worry and stress. He’d had no interest in faking a smile when their wellbeing was the only thing on his mind.

Ajay’s drone chirped and beeped, informing her that it had completed its analysis on Bloodhound’s condition. It pivoted on air to face her, retracting one of its arms and tucking it back beneath its body. She was occupied with the disc of her stethoscope pressed to their chest, her eyes averted in concentration. A few moments passed before she acknowledged the drone, nodding her head in its direction. “Understood. Thank ya, DOC.”

Elliott blinked. “You can understand that thing?”

She shot a playful glare. “Yes, and that _thing_ can understand ya too, so watch ya mouth.”

He made a face, watching her slip the stethoscope from her ears and drape it around her neck. “How’s everything sound? Alright?”

Ajay gestured with her hand. “Sorta-kinda. Heartbeat sounds good, but their lungs are a lil’ shakier than normal. Wheezy, raspy, scratchy – gonna take ‘em some time to recover.”

The worry on his face deepened. “Wh-What? What do you mean? H-How is that okay? Maybe we need to take them back to the infirmary. I-I don’t want them to – ”

She set a reassuring hand on his arm. “Quit ya worryin’, Elliott. They’ll be a’ight. Had an attack when their respirator got hit.”

His brow furrowed. “An attack? Hound can’t breathe…on their own?”

“They _can_. Takin’ away their respirator ain’t necessarily a bad thing. Breathin’s just a bit harder for them than, say, you or me,” she explained. “Cuttin’ off their respirator wit’ no warnin’, though - that ain’t goin’ to lead to anythin’ pretty. Plus, dealin’ wit’ a shot from a sniper only makes the body work harder. Talk about a deadly combination.” 

“Ah…” he trailed off as he looked them over. “Never even knew they even had an issue. Since when?”

She shook her head. “Now, that ain’t for me to tell. I gave ‘em my word. If they want to tell ya what happened, that’s up to ‘em later. But, right now, they’re stable. You fixin’ up the respirator was a huge help. A few days rest and takin’ it easy will do ‘em good."

Elliott propped his elbow on his knee and set his chin on his palm. “I hope you’re right.”

“You doubtin’ a medic, wise guy?” she quipped, giving him a light punch on the arm. “Nuh worry. Like I said, they’ll be a’ight.”

He smiled, watching as she began to gather her supplies and prepare to leave. His eyebrows raised in surprise, his eyes darting between her and Bloodhound. “That’s it? We’re done? It’s okay to leave them here? Alone? What if they wake up and no one’s around?”

Ajay paused to look at him. “If there’s anythin’ you know about Bloodhound, it’s that they ain’t one to get lonely.”

Elliott tried not to look worried. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I-I know. Privacy, solitude, isolation – th-they’re big on that. B-But, still, wh-who wants to be alone wh-when they’re not feeling well? E-Everyone likes to be taken care of! Right…?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Right, but we ain’t talkin’ about everyone. We’re talkin’ about _Bloodhound_.”

He gave a half-shrug. “I guess,” he mumbled.

The hesitation in his voice was obvious. Ajay leaned forward and draped her arms across her lap, giving him a nudge with her shoulder. “Be straight with me. You don’ wanna leave ‘em. Why? Gettin’ hot for Hound, are ya?”

Elliott blinked rapidly. “H-Huh?! Wh-What are you – n-no, no, it’s nothing like that! I-I’m just…I-I’m just thinking of wh-what _I’d_ want if I went through even _half_ of wh-what they did! Y-Y’know, it’d be n-nice to be cared for! Th-That’s it!”

Her expression was sly. “Uh-huh. You’re not a good liar, Elliott. Fess up.”

His hands flailed in exasperation. “Lying?! Who’s lying?!”

“It’s a’ight. I get it. Nothin’s worse than gettin’ bit by the love bug.”

A blush crept up his neck and over his face. He started stammering an incoherent mess of words in attempt to plead otherwise. Ajay covered her mouth to muffle a laugh. “Breathe easy, friend. I’m only teasin’ ya. Your secret’s safe wit’ me.”

Elliott stared at her questioningly, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. “…You…you promise?”

“Promise. You care a lot about ‘em. You got a big heart,” Ajay smiled. Hopping from the bed, she neatly packed up her supplies and scooted her medic bag toward him. “Since you’ll be hangin’ ‘round here, take this. Anythin’ you might need, you’ll find it there. I’ll keep in touch wit’ ya and swing by later to make sure everythin’s okay.”

He played confident, waving a hand. “I’ve got this. I’m completely cap-capa-capab….I’m, uh, _totally_ able to take care of them. No worries here.” 

She gave him a thumbs-up. “Good. I’m relyin’ on ya.”

“You can count on me,” he winked with a pair of finger guns.

Ajay smiled and stepped out of the bedroom, her health drone sticking close by her side. Elliott kept a smile plastered on his face until he heard her leave. The moment the door shut, he let out a breath and collapsed against the mattress, careful to not fall back on their legs. Taking care of Bloodhound – how hard could it be? They were quiet and placid with an affinity for keeping to themself. Nothing about them told him that they would be particularly difficult to care for.

Still, he worried he had let his feelings obscure logic. The extent of his experience caring for another human being was laughable. It dated back to his youth when his method of babysitting involved planting children in front of the television and playing re-run after re-run of mindless cartoons. Of course, pulling the same charade with Bloodhound was out of the question. He couldn’t do that to them, nor did he want to. He wanted to tend to their every wish and whim and spoil them like there was no tomorrow.

A quiet hum from Bloodhound made him turn his head. He sat up and looked at them with gentle eyes, watching their gloved fingers twitch and curl as they dreamt. Elliott smiled and stood, moving slowly to avoid disturbing them. “Alright, Hound. Don’t you go anywhere,” he teased quietly, adjusting the bed sheets around their legs. He then switched off the light and started to leave, glancing at them from over his shoulder. “Catch you in the morning.”

\- - - - -

No more than five minutes could pass without Elliott checking on Bloodhound. Even in the middle of the night, he was sleepless, convincing himself that he could hear the rustling of bedsheets or the squeak of a box spring. At one point, he had even resorted to sitting beside the bottom of the bedroom door. He had planted his feet wide against the floor, wrapped his arms around his waist and tipped his head back against the wall. It hadn’t mattered how hard he tried to focus on falling asleep. Whenever he teetered on the edge of slumber, he jolted awake, suddenly roused by his own paranoia or by the caw of Bloodhound’s raven. His mind was restless, and yet every time he peered into the bedroom to check on them, they were as he’d left them – sound asleep.

As promised, Ajay paid a late-night visit to run another check on their vitals. She assured a very worried Elliott that they were still fine and stable, expected to make a slow, but full recovery. She emphasized to him yet again how much the incident had taken a toll of them, and reminded him that rest was crucial. He needed to leave them alone and let them sleep.

Elliott obliged. When she left, Elliott flopped on the couch. He pressed a pillow to his face and tried to quiet his mind, shutting his eyes tighter as if it would help him fall asleep faster. To his own surprise, it worked, and he didn’t wake up until the sound of his own snoring startled him from a dream. With a snort, he pushed the pillow from his face and used both hands to rub the sleep from his eyes. A yawn twisted his face, a stretch extending from the tips of his toes to the ends of his fingertips. The rays of the early morning sun slipped past the curtains and washed over him. He groaned and turned away, letting his weary eyes close again.

He wished he could return to his dream. It had felt real – _so_ real. He had been in their apartment, smothering them with all of the tender, loving care they needed and deserved. Bloodhound had been grateful. Their appreciation had surpassed a mere “thank you.” In his dream, they had thanked him with a kiss. He swore he had really felt warmth of their body as it pressed flush to his, the softness of their lips as they moved against his, the longing behind their touch as their deft hands touched every accessible inch of his body. The words they had whispered in his ear were hungry and needy. They _wanted_ him and he had been moments away from giving them what they begged for. 

It was only a dream. Begrudgingly, Elliott brought himself back to the present. He got up from the couch with a groan and sauntered to the bedroom door, pausing outside of it to listen for movement. Hearing nothing, he nudged the door open and quietly stepped inside. As expected, Bloodhound lay in bed, the slow rise and fall of their chest telling him they were still asleep. A corner of his mouth curled as he approached and sat at the edge of the bed. He clicked his tongue. “I swear, Hound, you sleep harder than a rock. Ajay really wasn’t kidding when she said you needed rest. I think you’ve got enough sleep for a lifetime.”

Of course, they didn’t respond. Elliott watched them, appreciating the intricacies of their helmet that he normally wouldn’t be able to admire so closely. Trinkets and charms dangled, motionless in the still bedroom air. Their lenses were bleak and expressionless. The surface of their helmet was scuffed from battle, though not a single scratch or dent compromised its integrity. Lowering his eyes to the respirator, he was happy to see that his repairs continued to hold up nicely. The oxygen mask and tubing looked practically brand new, down to the details. He imagined Bloodhound would be pleased when they saw it.

His eyes lifted to where their face would be. It occurred to him that he had never really caught a hint of what they looked like – apart from when their mask detached in battle. He remembered seeing a hint of the unique scarring on their skin and the unexpected fullness of their mouth. He liked to think the rest of their face was just as striking. Elliott smiled a little, tilting his head. “It’s crazy,” he murmured. “I have _no_ idea what you look like under there, but I _know_ you’re beautiful.”

It felt good to let those words out. He was thankful they fell on deaf ears.

Or, so he thought.

“ _What_ are you doing here?” Bloodhound croaked.

Elliott almost forgot how to breathe. His rounded eyes blinked a million times a minute, a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment freezing him. How long had they been awake? Had they caught him staring? Had they heard what he said?

_Shit._

His face turned red and he put on a wide smile that did nothing except make him look even more nervous. “H-Hey, hey, Hound! Y-You’re awake!” he exclaimed at a painful volume. “H-How are you feelin’ there, sleepyhead?! Y-You’ve been out for a wh-while!”

Shakily, Bloodhound sat upright, gripping the edge of the bed for support. With a hiss of pain, their hand clasped the tender wound on their left shoulder. “Why are you here? In my room. In my _home_.”

There was an edge to their tone that made him tense up. The raspiness of their voice still heavy with sleep made their accent richer. Elliott gulped, running his fingers nervously through his hair. “R-Right, um…about that. Bit of a story. After, uh…you-know-what happened, you were admitted into the infirmary. The medics took a while to stabili-stable-stabilit…y’know, get you stable. But, once they did, you were discharged and sent home. You’ve pretty much been out like a light since the match ended. Didn’t even wake up when Ajay checked your vitals! Crazy, huh.”

Bloodhound visibly stiffened. “You have not answered me. _Why_ _are you here?_ ”

He averted his eyes. The truth wanted to burst from his lips. The truth was he had been insanely worried about them and the thought of leaving them alone in their apartment had almost tore him in two. It hadn’t mattered to him if they weren’t one to get lonely. They deserved to be cared for as much as anyone else.

Before the awkward silence could stretch any longer, he cleared his throat. “W-Well, Ajay thought you’d be fine recovering at home by yourself. But…I wasn’t so convinced. I offered to stick around.”

Their head tipped. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Figured you might appreciate the company, and a helping hand.”

“I am able to care for myself. I did not request you. I could argue that you have violated my privacy, Elliott.”

His posture shrank as he cringed. “W-Wait a second, l-let’s back up just a _teeny_ , tiny bit. I know you’re capable, Hound. You don’t need me – or really _anyone_ , for that matter – to take care of you. I could walk right out of here, leave you alone and find you back in that Ring lickety-split.” He paused, gesturing with a hand. “Orrrr…I could just…help you out. For as long as you need. You scared the shit out of me out there. I wanna make sure you’re alright.”

Quietly, they sighed. “No. I assure you I am fine.”

Elliott didn’t want to beg, but he couldn’t help it. “C’mon, Hound. Hear me out. I promise I won’t be – ”

“I do not wish to argue with you,” they interrupted. “In time, I will recover. I _do not_ need to be coddled like a child. Why must you – ” Their words caught in their throat, a hand clutching their chest as gasping coughs rattled their frame. Their other hand curled tighter around the edge of the bed, their body bent forward at the waist. Elliott moved closer, lightly patting their back to calm them. He reached for a pillow and propped it up behind them, watching with a soft smile as Bloodhound settled against it.

They relaxed with a shudder, shakily bringing a deep breath in through their nose and out through their mouth. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured, concern creasing the corners of his eyes. “You alright?”

They swallowed thickly and nodded, subconsciously fiddling with their oxygen mask. Touching it seemed to ignite a memory – the punctured tubing, the sniper snot that pierced the respirator. Now, before their eyes, it looked to be in mint condition, as if nothing ever happened. Confusion was clear in the way they angled their head, their fingers touching over the components carefully. “How…I did not repair any of this. Who is responsible?”

Elliott raised his hand. “Yours truly. Fixed it up for you while you were asleep. Not too shabby, huh?”

Bloodhound looked up at him, a little surprised. They would never underestimate his capability. They had, perhaps, underestimated just how much Elliott cared about them. The gesture was thoughtful and selfless. While some misjudged him as a goofy airhead with a big mouth, he was quickly proving to be a sharp, compassionate man with a big heart. 

Beneath their helmet, they blushed. There was a flutter in their stomach, tangible enough to prompt them to wrap their arms around their waist. Even though he couldn’t see them, they averted their eyes, fighting the sensation of butterflies. “That is…very kind of you, Elliott. Thank you.”

He smiled warmly. “Anytime, Hound. W-Well, not really ‘anytime.’ I don’t really wanna see you go through this again, but…eh, you know what I mean.” 

Bloodhound started to chuckle when another cough stopped them. More followed the first, harsh and rough enough to briefly steal their breath. Both their head and shoulder throbbed as they strained to take a full inhale, shocks of pain shooting through their fatigued body. Grimacing, they fell back, finally gasping a breath of air. Their chest rose and fell shallowly, their voice hoarse and quiet. “Please. Go. Let me rest.”

Elliott winced. “You sure I can’t convince you to let me take care of you?”

“Yes, I am sure,” they answered softly.

He nearly pouted. “Please?”

A sigh left their nose. Admittedly, it was their pride that kept them from outright accepting his help. They forced themself to look past his pushy persistence and understand his true intentions. Elliott _cared_. His big heart was clear in his warm eyes, in his smile. He was sincere and genuinely wanted nothing more than to see them recover.

But, giving in was daunting. It meant letting him in. It meant showing vulnerability and weakness. It meant dropping their guard and swallowing their pride. For most of their life, they had grown comfortable with the ways of the lone wolf. They had learned to rely on no one but themself whenever the circumstances dictated. Perhaps it was time to trust and take a leap of faith.

Finally, they conceded. “Fine.”

Elliott beamed. “I knew you’d come around!”

“I simply do not have the energy to argue,” Bloodhound half-lied. “I am placing much trust in you, Elliott. Do not let me down.”

“ _Pfft_. C’mon. You couldn’t be in better hands.” He stood up with a smile and struck a pose. “Just call me Doctor Witt.”


	3. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time! Thank you all for the continued love and support on this story. It means so much! :) 
> 
> As always, please comment and kudos. <3

Pork chops hit the pan with a sizzle, bringing with them an aroma that made Elliott’s tastebuds tingle. It was a dish he had made more times than he could ever remember, and yet he never seemed to grow tired of it. Particularly now, when it had been hours since his last meal, he wasn’t exactly feeling picky. Fretting over Bloodhound had put his appetite on the back burner. Satisfying his own needs had been the last thing on his mind while ensuring the hunter’s own were met. With them now awake and alert, he figured a home cooked meal would be a much appreciated start to their day. On top of that, he hoped a plate of the self-proclaimed “best pork chops in the universe” would warm them up to him even more. 

The smell of food drew Bloodhound out of the bedroom. Their socked footsteps sounded softly against the hardwood floor, stopping at the kitchen threshold. Their usual ensemble had been swapped for a pair of comfortable house pants and a long-sleeved top, though their helmet and mask had not been removed. 

With his back to them, they cleared their throat to get his attention and watched as a startled Elliott looked swiftly over their shoulder. “Hound! Just in time," he greeted them, flashing a charming smile. "I’m about to pop these bad boys in the oven for a few and then it’s eatin’ time. And, oh! I wanted to ask you – what do you want on the side? Salad? Rice?”

“Neither,” they answered shortly. “I do not feel very hungry.”

“Hey, just wait ‘till you have these. I _guarantee_ you won’t be able to put your fork down. _And_ it’s a family recipe. I’d tell you what’s in ‘em, but it’s a secret,” he winked.

“Hmm. Interesting.” Beneath their helmet, they quirked an eyebrow and eyed the counter. “I do not recall having these items on hand."

“You didn't. I got 'em from home. I know what you’re thinking – ‘he brought the ingredients, he cooked the food…how can such outstanding hospitality be free?’ It's not, but for you, it’s on the house,” he joked with a grin. “I’m _always_ stocked up. I whip these up all the time."

They reflected with a slight smile. “I see. Thank you, Elliott. That is very nice of you.”

He waved a hand. “Ahh, it’s no sweat. I needed to go home at some point and pack a bag, since I’m going to be sleepin’ over here for a while.” He blinked, bracing himself with a wince. “…I am…spending the night, right?”

Bloodhound nodded. “Yes. Your company overnight would be wisest until I am well. I will need to determine your accommodations later."

Elliott beamed. “Sweet. Thanks, Hound. Well, take a seat! Relax. Breakfast will be right up.”

Bloodhound obliged and moved to sit at the table. “You consider this breakfast?”

“I consider this an _anytime-time-of-the-day_ meal. It hits the spot all the same, whether it’s eight in the morning or eleven at night.” He made a playful face. “Don’t judge me.”

The hunter chuckled shortly. “I will not. We all have our guilty pleasures.”

“Exactly. I knew you’d get me, Hound.” Fetching a couple of glasses, Elliott filled them each with water. It hadn’t taken him long to familiarize himself with the layout of their kitchen. Compared to his own, it was borderline pristine. No bowl, plate, pot or pan was out of place. Even their pantry was immaculately stocked, with tidy shelves full of everyday essentials and food for their feathered friend. It didn’t surprise him in the least. In battle, they were precise, clean and deliberate. At home, he would expect no different. 

Elliott set a glass in front of them. “Here you go. One plate of pork chops, comin’ right up.”

Bloodhound leaned back in their chair, passing a couple of quiet coughs under their mask. In truth, there was little they found enjoyable about company. Watching Elliott open their cabinets, pull open their drawers and dirty their cookware was not particularly pleasing. Home, for them, had always been a place of safety and security. Inviting someone in – not to mention, letting someone _spend the night_ – threatened that idea. Over and over again, they reminded themself that Elliott always meant well. Even with his propensity to goof up, they knew him well enough to understand he never intended to make them uncomfortable. 

Elliott returned to the table, presenting their plate with a little flourish. “Ta-da! Pork chops _à la_ Witt.”

Bloodhound smiled. “Thank you, Elliott.”

“My pleasure.” He sat across from them, gesturing to their plate. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Take the first bite. I wanna know what you think.”

They gave a nod, allowing themself a moment to unfasten their oxygen mask. It hung loosely from their face, revealing full lips chapped from fatigue. Scooting closer to the table, Elliott stopped mid-motion, flushing as his eyes caught the flick of their tongue against their mouth. Staring was impolite, and he most definitely knew better, as much as he knew Bloodhound would not hesitate to call him out if they caught his lingering gaze. He blinked out of a daze and watched them take their cutlery in hand to cut away a bit-sized piece of pork. Taking the meat between their teeth, they chewed musingly and hummed. “It is a bit sweet, yet savory,” they told him, politely covering their chewing mouth with a hand. “Very good."

With their praise and approval, Elliott happily took his utensils in hand. “That’s what I was hoping to hear, Hound. I’m happy you like ‘em.” He popped a bite into his mouth. “Try to eat as much as you can, alright? Get some of your strength back.”

Bloodhound reached for their glass, chasing a bite with a sip. “My appetite has not fully returned. I cannot promise to eat it all.”

“It's okay. I getcha,” he smiled sweetly. “I won’t be offended.”

An unfamiliar warmth flooded them, an immediate reaction to the way his hazel eyes crinkled when he smiled at them. It felt like butterflies, a funny, fluttery feeling in their stomach that they couldn’t will away. Bloodhound was quick to stab and chew another bite, letting the subsequent silence linger. Elliott kept quiet, listening to the sounds of mouths chewing and cutlery scraping. Even as a talker who rarely found himself at a loss for words, he had never really mastered the art of breaking awkward silence. None of the ideas that came to him were any good – a mundane comment about the weather, a corny, dead-on-arrival joke. He didn’t want to bring up the match. It was a sore subject he doubted they wanted to re-live so soon.

A cough from Bloodhound finally broke the quiet. Setting down their utensils, they reached for their glass, but instead pressed their hand against their rib cage as the coughing continued. They covered their mouth in the crook of their arm, bending forward at the waist. Concernedly, Elliott furrowed his brow and paused his own meal. “You alright?”

Bloodhound nodded with a shaky breath as they sat upright. Their fingers trembled as they dabbed their mouth with a napkin. “Yes,” they said softly. “I would...prefer to finish the rest later. I cannot eat anymore.”

Elliott watched with worried eyes as they re-fastened their mask and reclined. Their hand remained laid against their chest, attempting to soothe the ache in their lungs as they took slow, controlled breaths. It was evident the hunter was in pain, on top of everything else. Inability to alleviate their suffering was heartbreaking. 

His eyes fell to their mask. Behind it, their breathing was quiet and quivering, but steady. He stared at it for a moment of thought, and before he knew it, his mouth worked faster than his brain. “Have you always needed that to breathe?”

Visibly, Bloodhound tensed. “...No. I do not _need_ it. I am able to breathe independently. For me, it is harder – even more so if the task is strenuous.” Their voice was rigid and deliberate, as if the hunter was mindfully controlling their modulation. “You must understand, Elliott, while I recover, it will be especially difficult at times.”

Elliott acknowledged with a nervous nod. “Y-Yeah, I get that. Makes sense,” he stuttered. “It’s just… Ajay mentioned somethin’ about a story you told her. A story about why you wear the mask.”

“It is a tale I told her in confidence. I have no doubt she told you the same,” they answered a bit coldly. “You should honor that.”

He bit his lip. “No, no. You’re right. Totally right. I-I guess I thought you might tell me, too, since I’m – ”

Suddenly, Bloodhound stood. “Thank you for breakfast, Elliott.”

He shot up from his seat with nervous energy. “Y-Yeah! S-Sorry, I mean – y-you’re welcome…! L-Let me, uh…let me take care of these dishes, huh?” Elliott reached across the table to stack his plate on top of theirs, practically toppling over their emptied glass. “Wh-Why don’t you wash up? Doesn’t a hot shower sound nice?”

“I prefer a bath,” they said as they exited. “Please, do not disturb me.”

No sooner than when they left, Elliott fell back into his seat with a huff. He slid his hand down his face and blew out a sigh, damning himself for brainlessly prying. Bloodhound was a private person who kept many aspects of their past and present very well guarded. Everyone knew that about them, but not even that kept him from shoving his foot in his mouth. He feared he had ruined a perfectly fine meal. As much as he wanted to rush after them with a slew of apologies, he figured some time apart would be best. He only hoped they knew his curiosity had come from a place of caring, not one of malice.

\- - - - -

Rarely did Bloodhound turn down the opportunity for a hot bath. It never failed to work wonders on a sore body and cluttered mind. It was needed now more than ever, after their last battle had ended in physical and mental distress. What was more, Elliott’s question over breakfast had unexpectedly vexed them. They knew he meant no harm. He never meant to hurt or fluster them. He simply _cared_ , but opening up had never come easy. Then had not been the time for them divulge. They needed time - time to reflect, collect their thoughts and unwind.

Bloodhound tested the temperature of the water with their foot, finding it warm enough for their liking. Stepping in front of the mirror, their fingers worked to undo their messy bun, releasing their hair in a dark cascade past their shoulders. Their eyes ran over their naked reflection, focusing particularly on the wrapped-up wound on their left shoulder. Gently, they ran their fingers against the wrapping, wincing at the tinge of pain that stung them. Their skin needed to be cleaned in the bath and re-dressed thereafter, and so they gingerly peeled away the bandaging until the flesh was exposed. While still tender and sore, it appeared to be healing well. The medics, as always, had done an immaculate job in treating and cleaning their injury, and they were thankful their gear had managed to take a brunt of the sniper’s impact.

Leaving the mirror, they tossed the bandages into the trash and approached the side of the bathtub. They lifted one foot at a time into the water, submerging themself little by little until they disappeared beneath soft, fluffy suds. The water washed over their shoulder, prompting them to hiss in a breath and swallow a whimper. They first addressed their hair, tipping their head back into the water until their tresses were thoroughly soaked. They sat up to squirt a dollop of shampoo into their hand, working it into a lather. Using the bathtub wand, they rinsed, and then repeated the same with a palmful of conditioner. The hot water soothed their muscles and drowned their stress. With a sigh, Bloodhound reclined with closed eyes and let their mind fall into a long-awaited feeling of calm.

They delighted in the sound of silence. Silence meant peace and serenity, both of which were luxuries in the life of a Legend. The inherent brutality of the games, the rigorous demands of training, the pesky interviews – it never ceased. It was a grind that the hunter had in many ways grown used to, though they mused the time off to recover was a well-deserved excuse to slow down.

As soon as their mind found some semblance of peace, unsettling echoes from the recent past returned. They shut their eyes tighter, trying to battle the images that flickered through their mind. The memories felt tangible, striking them with feelings of fear, pain and agony. They recalled the crack of a Kraber and the force of its impact. The searing pain in their shoulder and the awful heaviness of their lungs. The struggle to breathe. The desperation to fight. Suffocating. Collapsing. Fading. They saw Elliott, his kind eyes heavy with worry as he held them in a way that told them he wasn’t going anywhere. They remembered how his arms tightened around them as their consciousness slipped, as each breath became shorter and shorter until breathing seemed to elude them altogether. 

Bloodhound gasped awake. They sat still, gripped with dismay. Widened, panicked eyes searched the space around them, as if expecting the images in their mind to be manifested in front of them. Reality dawned upon them and they slowly relaxed, leaning their head against the tub wall with a heavy sigh. _A nightmare._ Their panting subsided as their eyes returned closed. They hadn’t even realized they had drifted off. Yet again, sleep had pulled them under, this time trapping their exhausted mind in a terrible dream that felt all too real.

A knock at the door startled them.

_Elliott._

They looked aside. “I asked not to be disturbed.”

“I-I know, I know…! Didn’t forget. Just wanted to check on you,” his voice stammered from the other side of the door. “It’s been a while. A little over an hour, actually. I-I mean, if th-that’s normal for you, b-by all means…I’ll shut up and leave you alone.”

A bit surprised, Bloodhound blinked. Time had truly escaped them. The bath had been meant to soothe and relax them, and yet the opposite had happened. While they really did not want to accept that it had been spoiled by a nightmare, it apparently was the case. Returning to a calm state of mind seemed impossible anyway, especially with their head riddled with unpleasant memories.

“Hound?”

They frowned. “I am here. Allow me a moment.”

Steadying themself against the tub wall, they slowly stood. Water and bubbles dripped from their lean frame, revealing fair skin flushed from the heat of the bath. Flipping the drain, they stepped out and dried off, fixing the towel snug around their waist. They returned to the mirror, noting the way the bathwater and the humidity of the bathroom air had given their hair a gentle curl. They looked to the place on the countertop where their clothes would be, but clicked their tongue upon realizing they had neglected to retrieve them before drawing their bath.

Bloodhound called over their shoulder, “Elliot?”

Frantic footsteps approached the door. “Yeah?!”

“Will you bring me a change of clothes? In the bedroom. Check the dresser.”

“Of course! Be back before you can count to ten.”

The hunter almost smiled. As they waited, they ran a brush through their hair. Quick, familiar fingers braided half of it and secured it with a tie, leaving the rest to tumble softly past their neck. As promised, Elliott promptly returned. They could hear him catching his breath before he knocked on the door again. “Alright. I’m back. You want me to leave these here? Outside the door?”

“No need. I will crack it open. Please, hand them to me.” Approaching the door, Bloodhound turned the knob and eased it just barely ajar. Elliott extended his arms, cradling a pair of sweatpants and a comfortable top. They quickly accepted the clothes through the doorway. “Thank you. I will be out in a moment, Elliott. Please make yourself comfortable.”

\- - - - -

There was nothing really great about daytime television – corny soap operas, redundant talk shows, clichéd dramas. Each uninterested Elliott as much as the next. He flipped through the channels with increasing impatience, settling on an uninspired crime show with an equally uninspired cast. Stretching comfortably across the couch, he prepared to wait until Bloodhound finished up in the bathroom and joined him on the couch. Chores had already been taken care of. The kitchen had been tidied and the dishes were done. While they had a bath, he had helped himself to a well-deserved shower in their second bathroom. He felt a little more human again, a lot less weary and much more refreshed.

Elliott looked forward to hunkering down on the couch with Bloodhound, without any demands or obligations to keep them from wasting a couple of hours on some mindless media. It was odd to imagine enjoying such regular activities with the Games’ feared hunter. He had already seen a more relaxed side, a facet very few were privy to. It was as endearing as it was surprising.

He twirled his still-damp curls around his finger as he unexpectedly became invested in the television show. The concept wasn’t anything original – a bickering team of detectives was tasked with closing a cold case that had remained a mystery for decades. The plot started to twist and turn. It thickened and gripped him. He sat upright and scooted to the edge of the couch, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume. He gnawed on his lip and bounced his knee as suspense swelled, building up to the climax of the narrative.

“Can I borrow you for a moment?”

“Huh?” he answered, not yet tearing his eyes from the screen. “Y-Yeah, ‘course. What do you – ”

His words died on his tongue. He dropped the remote. Bloodhound stood in the doorway – without their helmet, without their mask. Half of their dark hair was twisted into braids and secured with the tie, leaving the rest to fall softly past their shoulders. Their eyes were striking and intense, emphasized by a thick frame of eyelashes. A web of scars fanned over their face, a testament to the mystery and resilience of their past. Their features were both soft and sharp, feminine and masculine. Elliott didn’t want to look away.

“Elliott?”

His jaw snapped shut with an audible clack. “Y-You…I-I didn’t…wh-what…wh-where is your…?!”

Bloodhound approached. “Despite rumor, I do not live in my gear. When I am home, I prefer to be comfortable – as anyone would.”

He tried not to tense. Their body still radiated warmth from their bath, and he picked up a pleasant whiff of their conditioner as they lowered beside him. There had never been a doubt in his mind that Bloodhound was attractive. In every daydream he had ever had about the hunter, his mind's eye always conceptualized beauty. He never thought reality could trounce imagination. In every way, they were more breathtaking than his head could have ever conceived.

Elliott looked over their face. “Wh-What about…what about the, uh…th-the…”

They shook their head. “As I have told you, I am able to breathe independently. For now, I am fine.” In one hand, they presented Ajay’s medic bag. Setting it in their lap, they retrieved a handful of items – ointment, bandages, medical tape, gloves. “I would appreciate your assistance in re-dressing my wound. It is difficult to do by myself.”

He nodded and swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. Setting the supplies across the adjacent couch cushion, he watched as Bloodhound shrugged an arm out of their shirt and extended it toward him. Solid muscle flexed beneath fair skin, and they revealed an elaborate pattern of tattoos that spanned the length of their forearm. Elliott took a moment to admire, tilting his head to better analyze and appreciate the beauty of the intricate markings.

With a short huff, Bloodhound started to withdraw their arm, cuing Elliott to hurry along. He mumbled an apology and slapped on the medical gloves, taking their arm into careful hands. He leaned forward to examine their shoulder, letting out a low whistle. “Believe it or not, it looked a hell of a lot worse yesterday,” he said with a smirk. “How’s it feel?”

“As expected,” they answered plainly. “The pain has not completely subsided. It is tender to the touch.”

Elliott draped their arm across his lap. “Well, I can’t promise you this won’t sting.” He untwisted the ointment cap and applied a generous glob to the tips of his fingers. “I’ll try to keep it quick.”

Bloodhound readied, taking in a deep breath through their nose. As his fingers began to work the ointment against their skin, their brow twitched. Elliott regarded them apologetically, frowning at the way their jaw clenched and their hands balled into fists. He ensured their skin was evenly coated before he withdrew his fingers. “Alright, I’m done. You feel alright?”

They nodded. “Yes. Now – the bandages.”

He retrieved them, laying the bandaging flush against their wound. Securing it with a piece of medical tape, he began to carefully wrap and twirl the dressing around their shoulder. Bloodhound lifted their eyes, feeling flushed by the nearness of his face to their own. His handsome features were even more enhanced with little space to separate them – his tanned skin, full pout, strong bone structure. Warmth spread through them like fire. They looked away before it could rise to their cheeks and give Elliott an idea of what was going through their mind. 

Elliott finished, tearing away excess material with his teeth. “How’s that?” he asked, securing the bandage with a knot. “I think I did a wonderful job, if I do say so myself.”

Bloodhound rotated their arm to inspect. “You did well. Thank you, Elliott. I will need your assistance again before bed, if it is no trouble. I must keep the bandages fresh.”

He made a face. “You? Trouble? C’mon. You’ll never be any trouble,” he assured warmly, pulling his gloves off one by one. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

This time, they couldn’t hide. Their cheeks tinted red. Nervously, they looked away, tucking a few strands of hair behind their ear. It wasn’t like them to become so easily flustered by kind words and a charming smile. Something about him made them feel safe. Something about him made them want to open up. They rarely found such comfort in another human being, at least not so soon and so naturally.

With the medic bag re-packed, Elliott relaxed beside them. He glanced at them in his peripheral, clearing his throat to kill the lull in conversation. “So, uh. I meant to ask – how was your bath?”

Bloodhound fixed their lips into a frown. “It did not go as planned. I was visited by nightmares. It is difficult to relax with a restless mind.”

Worry wrinkled Elliott’s brow. “You remember everything?”

They nodded. “Yes, mostly. The end is not entirely clear, but…the pain. I cannot forget it.”

His hazel eyes became troubled. He shifted on his hip to face them. “I’m sorry, Hound. If I’m being honest, that’s why I haven't brought it up. No sense in making you re-live it all over again.”

Bloodhound acknowledged with a short hum. “I appreciate your discretion.”

“'It’s good to know I at least have a _little_ discretion,” he laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. “I didn’t really show it over breakfast. I didn’t mean to pry. You know me, Hound. My mouth likes to work a lot faster than my brain sometimes. M'sorry.”

They huffed a chuckle. “I know this very well about you. I take no offense, and I must apologize for leaving abruptly. I meant no insult.”

He forgave them with a hand wave. “Don’t. I would’ve done the same thing. I get it.”

Bloodhound took a moment to reflect before looking to him with a small smile. “I must say, Elliott. Your diligence in battle is admirable. You sought to find me immediately. I have great respect for those who leave behind no brethren.”

Elliott mirrored their smile, shaking his head. “It’s nothin’, Hound. I had to. I didn’t think twice.”

“Do not downplay your strength,” they urged gently. “You are thoughtful and loyal, steadfast and kind. You hurried to find me, despite the temptation to earn the final kills.”

“Adding a couple more heads to my kill count didn’t mean nearly as much as finding you,” he told them in a murmur. “I wished I could’ve got to you sooner.”

They shook their head. “Focus not on what you cannot change. Your actions showed heart.”

The flattery brought a sheepish grin his face. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you…trying to make me blush? Because, it’s working.”

Bloodhound let out a light laugh. “I mean no such thing. I am an honest person who values integrity, and I find yours to be admirable. Thank you for fighting with honor.”

Elliott’s eyes grew gentle. Their softer side was seldom seen. While they were always respectful to their fellow fighters, the hunter never seemed to be one for sentiment. They weren’t one to shower people with praise or overly express their gratitude. The onslaught of compliments took him by surprise. It was as much as a rare joy as it was to see them smile or hear them laugh. The incident had, without a doubt, brought them closer, and despite their initial hesitancy to have him around, he was starting to see a crack in their usually highly-guarded walls.

He smiled. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I would never want to burden you like that again,” they said softly.

Elliott set a reassuring hand on their knee and leaned forward to emphasize his words. “Hound. You couldn’t possibly be a burden. Ever.”

Instinct told them to recoil at his touch. It told them to run. Instead, they visibly relaxed, drawn in by the warmth of his hazel eyes. Elliott, too, found his focus lost in the entrancing depths of their gaze. The noise from the television faded into the background, and several beats of silence passed as they shared a locked glance. Unthinkingly, briefly, their eyes fell to his mouth. It was a quick, fleeting gesture he would have missed if he had blinked, and it gave him an idea of the thoughts running through the hunter’s mind.

He swallowed, looking at their lips with similar, flickering moment of curiosity. “Hound…?”

They leaned forward, only a little, until their breath grazed his skin. “Elliott, I – ”

A knock at the door killed their words on their lips. As if returning to their senses, Bloodhound shot their attention to the door. They had not been expecting a visitor, and as they pondered who it might be, the knocking resumed. Reluctantly, they stood and slipped from his side. Elliott frowned, disappointment clear on his face and heavy in his gut. His mind played out the possibilities of what may have transpired had there been no interruption. There was something between them that dared to transcend platonic. It felt curious and real, and he wanted more.

Elliott rose from the couch and hurried after them, stopping them mid-stride with a gentle hand on their arm. “Can’t it wait?” he asked with a hopeful smile. “Just a few minutes?”

Bloodhound met his eyes and nearly agreed, but shook their head before their heart could overrule their head. “I cannot, Elliott. I shouldn't. It isn’t polite to – ”

“Hound...” he tried again, stepping in front of them.

The hunter hesitated, looking between him and the door. It seemed they were about to concede, a small sigh passing their lips as they smiled. But, as they took a step forward to lessen the space between them, the knocking returned. A curse word Elliott did not recognize left them under their breath. They reassured him with a hand on his shoulder. "We will have much time to continue this evening. You will have me, undivided.”

He watched with some reluctance as they walked around him. With their words providing some ease of mind, he hid his chagrin with a smile. Bloodhound was right – they had time. He wasn’t exactly going anywhere for a while, and with them already more comfortable around him, he couldn’t wait for the next chance to get even closer.


	4. Trust Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! :) Another update! 
> 
> I say this every time and I will until this story is finished - thank you all SO, so, so, so much for the love and support. Every comment and kudos makes me smile. Ugh, it means a lot. It makes me so happy to know you are all enjoying my work and love miragehound just as much <3 !! 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think in the comments and enjoy! <3

Whoever was at the door wasn’t leaving. The knocking resumed yet again when Bloodhound’s footsteps approached. With a short sigh, they peered curiously through the peep hole and stepped away a moment later, motioning to Elliott. “Please, answer the door. I will return shortly.”

His eyes followed them as they made their way out of the room before his attention re-directed. He couldn’t answer the door without a quick spruce-up. He fixed his hair and smoothed his beard before he pulled it open with a smile, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. “Anita! Renee!” he beamed. “Well hello, ladies. What brings you two over here?”

Anita eyed him suspiciously. “Nevermind that. What brings _you_ here? To _Hound’s_ place? And what took you so long to answer the door?”

He panicked, but quickly feigned a yawn to hide a blush. “Man, sorry. I was deep in a nap. I’m crashin' here until they’re healed up. Keepin' an eye on them.”

Renee gave him a once-over. “You’re kidding. How did you convince them? Bribery?”

“They must’ve _really_ lost it,” Anita added. “I thought I sniped ‘em in the shoulder, not the head.” 

He made a face at both of them. “Ha-ha-ha. Hilarious. Really. If you _must_ know, they want me here. I-I mean, sure, it took a little convincing, but they came around. If you want my two cents, I think they just couldn’t pass up the chance to have such a hunky nurse hangin’ around.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Renee cringed, slipping past him and into the apartment. “ _Please_. We just ate.”

Anita followed. “Listen. We’re here for Bloodhound, hot shot. How are they holdin’ up?”

He closed the door behind them. “Recovery’s still pretty fresh. Not feelin’ one hundred percent, but they’re doing better than the other day.”

“Good. They didn’t look so good out there,” Renee recalled, leaning back against the wall with folded arms. “I’ve never seen them like that.”

“Me neither. And I don’t _ever_ want to see them like that again,” he answered before turning a playful glare to Anita. “I think _someone_ owes them an apology.” 

She held up her hands. “Hey. All fair’s on the battlefield. Hound’s no FNG – they know that. Ask ‘em.”

As if on cue, a cough came from the bedroom. In unison, the trio turned their heads. Bloodhound emerged in the same comfortable attire as before, but with their helmet donned. As they approached, their head rotated between each Legend and nodded in greeting. “ _Góðan daginn_.”

Anita set her hands on her hips and huffed a short chuckle. “Well, I’ll be damned. Look at you. That Kraber barely put you out, Hound.” 

Graciously, they nodded. “The Allfather has blessed me with another day. I take no offense from your actions. You fought _ríkr_ , as any true fighter would.”

“I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t bust my balls,” she grinned. “You’re a class act. One of the best.”

“No doubt, and we want to see you back out there as soon as you’re better,” Renee said with a small smile. “Don’t go through this alone. Anything you need, we’re all here.”

Prefacing their words with another cough, they nodded. “Thank you. Your kindness is appreciated. I am grateful for my brethren.” They turned their face toward Elliott. “Elliott, too, has been thoughtful. He will be here until I recover fully, offering his services.”

A smirk twisted Anita’s lips. "Careful, Hound. What kind of services are we talkin' about here?"

They blinked, hiding any embarrassment with a chuckle. "None of the sort you are implying. Do not misconstrue his intentions.”

“I’m just sayin’. ‘Pretty boy’ might just be looking for an excuse to play doctor, if you catch my drift.”

Bloodhound tilted their head. “Catch your…drift?” The connotation struck them. Beneath their mask, they reddened. “I-I do not know what you mean."

Elliott felt his face flush. He threw himself in front of Bloodhound to block Anita from their view. “It’s nothin’! Don’t worry about ‘catching her drift!’ There’s no _‘drift’_ to ‘catch!”

While Renee muffled her laughter behind her hand, Anita peeked out from behind him and pointed at the blush on his face. “I think that about sums it up. Guilty as charged,” she laughed, turning on her heel to exit. “Good seein’ you two. Elliott, take good care of 'em or else I'll have to take care of you. Hound, get better and try not to get too charmed by that pretty face, alright?”

Renee peeled herself from the wall. He could not miss the mischievous look in her eye as she stepped by. “What?!”

She nudged him. “Behave.”

The door fell closed behind them. Neither one of them immediately moved, standing silent in a moment of unspoken embarrassment. Elliott shot a glance to Bloodhound before he strolled up to the door, letting out a laugh as he shook his head. “Oh, man. Those two, huh?” he said as he turned the lock with a click. “Always givin’ me a hard time about _somethin’_."

They cleared their throat and nodded. "It is meant in jest."

"I know. I’m happy they stopped by. They were worried about you – _almost_ as worried as me.” 

Bloodhound started to answer him when their words were lost in a fit of coughs. It fluctuated in intensity, worsening even when it seemed to diminish. Their footsteps staggered as they turned to return to their bedroom, a hand steadying themself against the wall. Elliott hurried to their side, concern creased into his forehead. His arm draped around their waist. Weakly, the hunter looked to him, and even the bleakness of their eyepieces somehow conveyed the extent of their discomfort.

Elliott offered a smile. “I’ve got you.” 

Bloodhound did not shrug away. They leaned into him, using the sturdiness of his body as support. His gait didn’t stagger even as their coughs continued, racking their frame with painful force. He held them tighter, timing his steps with theirs until they reached the bedside. Elliott pulled back the covers and propped up the pillows before he helped them into bed. Bloodhound sank back with a groan, letting their helmet fall back against the headboard with a quiet thud. They fought to regain control of their breathing in slow, even measures, their hands balled tightly at their sides. A hand unfurled and lifted to their helmet, lightly tapping its surface. Elliott nodded, pulling away their helmet. With their oxygen mask remaining, he bent forward to ensure it was still securely fixed to their face. Satisfied, he smiled, tucking the respirator’s attached canister beside their hip and draping the tubing comfortably across their body.

“There we go,” he whispered warmly, sitting at their side. “How’s that?”

Bloodhound nodded shakily. “Fine. It…it seems – ” They paused again to cough. “It seems I have overdone it. I should have worn it sooner. I was foolish.”

Elliott shook his head, tenderly sweeping aside strands of dark hair that had become matted to their forehead. “C’mon now. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I don’t know about you, but most people I know wouldn’t even be able to walk, let alone _hold a conversation_ after going through what you did. Give yourself a little credit, Hound.”

There was a faint smile underneath the pain in their eyes. “I suppose you are right. I should not undermine my own strength."

He smiled and lowered his hand. “That's the attitude. What can I get ya? Water? Tea? Another plate of the best pork chops in the universe?”

The hunter laughed through their nose. “Nothing at the moment, Elliott. I am fine.”

Silence fell as they turned their head to stare blankly out of their bedroom window. Their mind wandered over the events of the day. They thought of the morning and the meal he had so thoughtfully prepared for them. They fondly reflected on Anita and Renee’s visit and reminded themself to never take their brethren for granted. They reluctantly recalled their bath and how nightmares had terrorized them. Without even realizing it, their mind continued to fixate on the latter. Memories flooded again, gripping them in a bitter vise. 

Their pain was evident. Elliott could practically see the thoughts rolling behind their eyes. He leaned forward and tried to look at them, lines of worry furrowing his brow. “Hey – you alright? What’s on your mind?”

Bloodhound blinked, but did not turn to him. “There is much of my mind. It seems I am reminded of what happened at every moment of peace.”

He frowned. “I’d do damn near anything to take away that pain. It _kills_ me that I can’t do more.”

“You have already done much for me,” they answered, looking at him. “Most you have done out of your own selfless heart. Take, for instance, your repairs on my respirator. My recovery would be much slower without it. I do not have the words to thank you properly, Elliott.”

He smiled a little. “No thanks needed. Now I know how important this is for you.”

Bloodhound nodded slightly, letting their gaze fall to their lap. Since their childhood, their respirator had essentially been a part of them. Legends and fans alike speculated on their reasons for wearing it. Most concluded their reasons were superficial, a deliberate costume design meant to add an extra edge to their already-intimidating appearance. Very few knew the truth. 

Their impressions of Elliott upon their first meeting might have deterred them from ever divulging personal stories to him. He had come off as a blabbermouth with the tendency to shove his foot in his mouth at least a dozen times a day. Though, time with him in and out of the Ring had painted him a much different light. They came to understand that their initial apprehensions had been largely incorrect. Elliott proved himself time and time again to be good-natured, compassionate and kind. It made him easy to trust.

Elliott could again tell they were lost in thought. “You want some time alone? I won’t get mad if you do. Everybody needs it. I’ve been houndin’ you all day, anyway. N-No pun intended."

The hunter answered immediately. “No. You are not bothering me. I apologize. There are many thoughts filling my mind.”

He offered a smile. “I’m all ears, Hound, if you need to get somethin’ off your chest.”

“Vulnerability has never been my strength.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he reassured. “You can tell me a little or a lot.”

Bloodhound hesitated. It was time to open up, to throw away the lock and chain that protected them and let him in. Everything about Elliott was understanding and patient. He wouldn’t judge or reject them. This would bring them _closer_. They had to tell themself it would be okay.

_It will be okay._

With a deep breath, they began. “…As a child on Talos, I was tasked to slay a Goliath by my own hand. This was my rite of passage. It was of great importance among the hunters who raised me.” They paused, recalling the memory. “I had angered the beast once before. It was due to my actions that it attacked my village, claiming the life of my uncle before me. I sought revenge. As we later battled, I struck a line of coolant to slow its movements and bring it to its demise. Coolant brings with it a terrible burn when it reaches the lungs. It cracks the skin and leaves behind terrible scars. I feared I would perish, though, to my benefit, a mask lay close to where we fought. I was able to retrieve it and prevail. Without the Allfather’s grace and mercy, I likely would have met my end.”

Elliott hung on every word. Their poetic pace and beautiful accent transported him to the scenes they described. In his head, he could see them, a child faced with incredible, unfathomable trials and tribulations. Their past was not something many were privy to. It was shrouded in mystery, and any snippet of their backstory was fascinating. Their re-telling gave him further insight into who they were. It gave him a piece of the puzzle on what made them the force they were today. More than that, it made them even more human, and that endeared them to him.

He stared in awe. “I don’t even know what to say,” he murmured. “I’m speechless. I-I’m flabber-flab-flabberg...I'm _amazed_. A-And I’m so sorry, Hound – about your village, your uncle…That couldn't have been easy for you.”

They hummed shortly. “While the memory brings me grief, grief is necessary to heal and grow. It forces us to accept and adapt, like an animal faced with unexpected danger. I have faced many unforeseen challenges, but all have shaped me into who I have become."

Elliott nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I think it shaped you into a badass. Or were you just _born_ a badass?”

They laughed lightly. “I cannot take credit for what the Allfather bestowed me. I could not have persevered without the Gods. I must have faith that this, too, will pass. I will recover.”

“You will. No doubt about it. You defeated a freakin’ _Goliath_ , for goodness’ sake. As a _kid_. I think the most impressive thing I did as a kid was color between the lines.” He smiled and set a hand over theirs. “This is a bump in the road, Hound, and I’m right on this road with you.”

Bloodhound looked down at his hand. His touch was warm and comforting, like his gentle eyes and calm tone. A small smile pulled at their mouth from beneath the mask, though Elliott couldn’t see it. Their staring made him panic. He worried he had gone too far and crossed a line. He withdrew and shrank back, half-expecting them to demand an explanation. “S-Sorry! I-I, uh…d-didn’t mean to do that. W-Well, no, I did, but…I sh-shouldn’t have,” he stuttered nervously. “T-Totally wasn’t t-trying to pull a move or anything there, Hound. Pl-Please don’t – ”

“Elliott?”

He shut himself up. “…Y-Yeah?”

“Will you remain here until I fall asleep?”

After a couple of startled blinks, Elliott visibly deflated. “S-Sure. Of course.” He scooted to be at their side. With their backs against the headboard, he tucked the bed sheets loosely around their legs. "Comfy?"

“Mmh,” they hummed affirmatively.

Elliott watched their eyelids fall. “…And, uh, Hound?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for telling me that. Y-Your story. I know that’s a big deal for you. It really means a lot that you trust me.”

Just barely, they nodded. “Certainly, Elliott. Hold it close to your heart. I do not want to regret confiding in such a _miklimunnr_.”

He arched an eyebrow, dumbfounded. “A _mikli-miki-mik_ …A what now?”

They peeked open an eye. “A _loud mouth,_ ” they teased.

Elliott let out a laugh. “I can't even be mad at you for that one. I might be good at runnin' my mouth, but I’m even better at keeping secrets. Promise."

With a short chuckle, they returned their eyes closed. “Good.”

They tipped their head back and shifted their weight until they were comfortable on the mattress. Fatigue settled, slowing their breathing to a calm, steady rhythm. The late afternoon sun spilled through the window and over their face, highlighting their uniquely beautiful web of scars. Elliott traced them with his eyes, admiring their intricacy and mystique. Like any mark, their scars told a story, one of becoming and surviving, one he wouldn't have ever had the opportunity to appreciate if he hadn't earned the hunter's trust. 

Their hand slid close, overlaying their fingers atop his. Bloodhound appeared to be asleep, and Elliott mused with a smile that they were dreaming of him the same way he had dreamt of them many times before. He accepted their hand with a flutter in his heart and ran his thumb across the back of their palm, letting the warmth of their skin melt into his own.

\- - - - -

As promised, Elliott stayed. Even after they had fallen asleep, he remained at their side, relishing in the way their hand felt in his own. He ultimately decided it would be best to let them rest, and so he slipped quietly out of the bedroom in search for something to pass the time. He busied himself by rifling through their bookcase, going through title after title for anything that piqued his interest. Most of the selections were a bit drab or way over his head – books on planetary wildlife, lengthy texts penned in their native language, series of literature on the principles of tracking and hunting. He settled on the first, simply for the pictures. Sitting crisscrossed on the floor, he thumbed through the pages, making faces at images of creatures he had never seen before. Several sections were bookmarked with sticky notes or annotated with neat, detailed penmanship. It came as no surprise to him to discover the intelligent, gifted hunter was also well-read.

Tapping against a window pane interrupted his moment of light reading. Elliott arched an eyebrow and turned his head, listening. The noise returned, this time accompanied by the caw of a raven. He set the book down and hurried in the direction the sound, finding Artur perched outside of a window in the kitchen. He sized up Elliott, tapping impatiently from the other side.

Elliott let out a sigh and started to unlock the window. “Aren’t we in a hurry.” Artur dove inside the second he opened it. His talons narrowly missed the top of his head. “Hey! The hair, okay?! Watch the hair!”

The raven settled atop one of the many perches Bloodhound had fixed to the walls. He cawed again, almost demandingly. Elliott held his hands up in defeat, unable to understand avian language, but having an idea of what he desired. “Alright, _alright._ You could say _please_.”

He stepped into the pantry in search for what he was certain Artur was requesting – treats. Artur called out again, loud and close enough to make him flinch. Peering over his shoulder, he spotted the raven on the kitchen counter with his wings fluttering in excitement. Elliott couldn’t hide his smile as he extended his hand to him and dispersed the treats in front of him. Artur wasted no time in pecking at them, seemingly thanking him with small croaks and caws.

Elliott shook his head and laughed. “Well, this is a first. Never thought I’d be feeding a freakin' crow.”

As he started to close the pantry, his eyes landed on a container of tea bags. The thought of waking Bloodhound was a nice cup of tea struck him. While they hadn’t had much of an appetite, tea would be nourishing and satisfying for the time being. He shut the pantry after plucking a teabag between his fingers. The kettle on the stove did not take long to heat up, steam soon pouring from its spout. Elliott fetched a mug and filled it with the hot water, watching the teabag turn the surrounding liquid a rich, dark color. He left Artur to finish his treats in peace, carrying the mug on a saucer to the bedroom. On his way over, he spotted Ajay’s medic bag where he’d left it beside the couch. Seeing it reminded him to recheck their vitals as she had asked, and he nudged it into the bedroom with him.

Bloodhound was already up. Their waking eyes met his and then dropped to the tea in his hand. “Ah, Elliott. You did not have to go through the trouble,” they said softly. “Thank you.”

“No trouble at all, apart from your bird,” he smirked, approaching their bedside. “Pretty sure he doesn’t like me. Damn near ripped my hair out when I opened the window for him.”

They removed their oxygen mask and lowered it to their lap. “Artur does not easily trust strangers. He is devoted and protective, like a dog would be to its master,” they explained, accepting the mug with both hands. “He will get used to you, in time. You must be patient.”

Elliott made a face. “Uh-huh. I’ll try. Can’t say I’ve ever tried to befriend a crow before, but there’s a first time for everything I guess.”

“Artur is a _raven_ ,” they corrected with a snarky glimmer in their eye.

“My bad. A _raven_ ,” he chuckled, taking a seat at their side. “How’d you rest?”

Bloodhound blew gently at the tea, cooling it to a tepid temperature before they took a sip. “Fine,” they answered. “Telling you of my childhood on Talos reminded me of old memories. I dreamt of my village and the times shared with my uncle before his death.”

Elliott looked upset. “That sounds pretty depressing.”

They shook their head, cradling the mug under their nose. “Not at all. One day, I will see him again. In Valhalla. That truth brings me solace.”

Endeared, he smiled. He watched them take another sip. “I know you haven’t been hungry, but I figured you wouldn’t turn down tea.”

They smiled. “You assumed correctly. I will try to eat later. I am still not feeling like myself.”

“Let me give you a listen. Ajay’s orders, anyway,” Elliott suggested as he hoisted the medic bag into his lap. He unzipped it and started to sift through the contents. “I think she packed the whole infirmary in here. Lucky you, I won’t be pokin’ and proddin’ you with a million things. Just this.” He lifted the stethoscope from the bag. “Saw her use it on you yesterday. Didn’t look too hard. I can figure it out."

Bloodhound arched an eyebrow. “…Are you certain? You are no medic, Elliott. Perhaps it would be best to request her visit.”

“Nah, I told her I’d take care of you. I made a promise and I’m stickin’ to it,” he insisted. “I might not be an actual medic, but I can play pretend like a pro. Relax, Hound. You’re in good hands.”

Draping the stethoscope around his neck, he set the bag down on the floor. Intently, Bloodhound watched him. Apprehension started to well up inside of them. They clutched their mug of tea tighter as he swiveled on his hip to face them. They trusted Elliott – that much hadn’t changed. But, this was a new level of trust. This was intimate, and there _was_ something inherently intimate about letting him do this. Plenty of doctors had examined them throughout their childhood and into their adulthood, but when _Elliott_ was now the one behind the stethoscope, their stomach swarmed with butterflies.

Bloodhound set their tea aside with a shaky breath. They gulped, watching Elliott don the earpieces and hover the diaphragm over their chest. Their cheeks tinted as he pressed it gingerly against their shirt and began to adjust, searching for a clear, undistorted sound. When his brow creased, the hunter eyed him with worry. “Is there an issue?”

Elliott gave a sheepish smile. “Afraid so. I can’t really get a good sound through your shirt. W-Would it, uh…be alright if I t-tug it down a little?”

The color on their cheeks deepened. “I-I will do it for you.”

They hooked their fingers around their collar and eased their shirt down until more of their chest was exposed. Elliott tried not to stare, but failed to resist. Even with a mere tease, he could tell they were lean, but built with muscle. The contour of their torso was sculpted, beckoning wandering hands to touch and explore. Bloodhound seemed to read his mind and grant his wish, taking his hand and pressing it flush against their skin. The diaphragm of the stethoscope remained under his palm, pressed against them. Their fingers wrapped tightly around his, keeping him still and in place while he listened.

The thrum of their heartbeat filled his ears. It sounded as he would imagine the heartbeat of a hunter to sound – strong, steady, unwavering. Their breathing whooshed hoarsely along with the rhythm of their heart, a stark reminder of the trauma sustained in battle. Their heart quickened when he looked up at them, adoring the way they quickly tucked their hair behind their ear. He offered a sweet smile and looked aside to concentrate, giving his most honest attempt at listening and evaluating.

Bloodhound shifted. “Elliott?”

He looked at them with a handsome smile. “You nervous?”

They avoided his question with their own. “How does it sound?”

“I think it sounds… _beautiful_ , to be honest.” 

They looked at him skeptically. “Beautiful?”

Elliott brought his hand to their face, tracing the pattern of their scars with his fingertips. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Bloodhound felt their skin light up like fire under his touch. “…There is little of me that can be described as beautiful. I imagine my lungs sound unpleasant. My scars would likewise be unpleasant to most.”

He gently shook his head. “Nonsense,” he whispered, his voice low. “There is _so_ much about you that’s beautiful. I mean it – you’re _beautiful_ , Hound. Inside and out.”

Their face softened. His words melted their worry, bringing them to tip their face into the warmth of his palm. He had a way with breaking down their barriers and finding their softer, hidden side. As he thumbed over their skin, they tightened their hold on his hand. Their heart thudded with anticipation as he leaned forward, their eyes falling to his nearing lips. Bloodhound swallowed their nerves and closed their eyes, leaning forward to meet his mouth in a slow, tender kiss.

Elliott did not immediately close his eyes. He admired their face up close – the way their dark hair framed their face, the way a rosy blush tinted their cheeks, the way their thick lashes curled. Their beauty was breathtaking.

He melted into the kiss, delighting in how their mouth felt against his own – soft, warm and trembling with nervous excitement. He stayed gentle, bringing his hand from their cheek to their jaw. Adoringly, he cradled their face as he deepened the kiss with a tilt of his head. Bloodhound moaned and shuddered when his tongue ran across their bottom lip. They mimed him, letting their tongues writhe with escalating pleasure, tasting and teasing one another until the ecstasy was suffocating. His grunts and groans rattled them, his teeth nipping them while their hand found its way up the back of his neck and into his hair. The hunter welcomed the playful tinge of pain, returning it with a tug of his curls and a scratch against his scalp.

Elliott smiled against their mouth, panting. “ _Fuck_ , Hound.”

Their mouths were hungry and wild, moving hard enough to bruise and blister. Bloodhound dropped their hand from his hair to feel him through his shirt, deft fingers scaling the front of his body. Muscled divots flexed and twitched beneath their touch, beckoning them to slip beneath the hem and claw into tight, tanned skin. A noise sounded low in Elliott's throat. He dragged his hand from their jaw to their hair, letting his fingers twist, tangle and tug. The hunter responded almost uncharacteristically, unable to quiet their small, needy moans. Their heartbeat continued to thunder in his ears, its pace rapid with heightening arousal. Elliott was sure his own synchronized. His groans escaped him in broken breaths as he continued to kiss them, letting the passion build until they both ached for _more_. 

Neither wanted to stop. Heat tightened in their bellies until it hurt, awakening carnal desires hungry for more – more kissing, more touching, more of each other. Even as the kiss rendered them both breathless, neither pulled away until the last possible moment. It broke with a gasp and a protesting whine from Bloodhound, who needily met Elliott’s lust-clouded eyes. He thumbed over their cheek, feeling their quick, panting breaths wash warmly over his face. The way they looked at him was impossible to misinterpret. He knew what they wanted. He wanted the same. He wanted their skin on his, his name on their lips. He wanted to make them feel _good_ , in every way he knew imaginable.

With little warning, Bloodhound turned their face to cough into their sleeve. They let go of his hand, letting it fall from their chest along with the diaphragm of the stethoscope. Elliott shed the earpieces and ran a comforting hand against their back, trying to blink away the lust fogging his mind. Bloodhound fought to end the coughing fit, lowering their arm with a shaky breath once it finally subsided. “I-I’m sorry. I did not mean to stop.”

Catching his breath, he answered, “It’s alright. I guess we got a little carried away, huh?”

Bloodhound dismissed his concern with a shake of their head. “…You kiss _wonderfully_.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Th-Thanks, Hound. Wh-Who knew the best hunter in the Outlands was also the best kisser? Hah. Crazy.”

They let out an airy laugh. “You are kind.”

Elliott started to smile wider, but paused when a thought crossed his mind. “I, uh…I hope I didn’t cross a line or anything. You know I never want to make you uncomfortable, Hound. I just went with it. It _felt_ right, y’know? So, uh…sorry if I – ”

Bloodhound quieted him with a kiss. “Elliott,” they reassured. “The feeling is mutual.”


	5. Blushes and Butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for another update! 
> 
> I can't thank you all enough for the amazing love and the support. I am glad you are enjoying this story. Your positive feedback makes it all the more enjoyable for me to write. :)
> 
> As always, kudos, comment and enjoy <33

A cold shower never felt more necessary. The kiss had thoroughly worked Elliott up, stirring up all sorts of feelings he hadn’t felt in a while. It had taken clever maneuvering to exit the bedroom with his tented crotch hidden from view. He had used the medic bag to cover himself as he bid Bloodhound an anxious “see you later,” nearly tripping over his own two feet as he darted for the bathroom. 

He wasted little time in hopping into an ice cold shower, welcoming the briskness of the water with a shuddering sigh. It hit his hot skin and zapped most of the arousal pulsing through his veins, though it didn’t help that he could still _feel_ them. He licked and bit his lip, remembering their eager mouth, their hair-tangling fingers, their needy touch. He pondered what might have happened had the kiss persisted and desire triumphed, what might have happened had he obeyed that look in their eyes and given in to what they both wanted.

He shook his head, tilting his face up into the shower stream. He swallowed a groan that welled up in his throat. The effectiveness of his cold shower started to fade as his thoughts lingered. Even with butterflies fluttering up a windstorm in his stomach, he had to remind himself not to get distracted. Bloodhound’s health and recovery came first. That was _priority_ , above all else.

Elliott eventually emerged from the bathroom in nothing but a towel. The apartment was mostly dark and quiet, and he walked lightly in case Bloodhound had turned in for the evening. He spotted his overnight bag beside the couch in the living room. Lowering onto one of the cushions, he unzipped it and searched for a change of clothes. Finding a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt, he stood up and started to drop his towel – until the harsh caw of a raven made him jump.

Elliott shot his eyes over his shoulder, finding Bloodhound stood in the threshold. Startled, he tightened the towel around his waist. “H-Hey, there! Almost gave you a peep show,” he joked with a caught-off-guard grin. “Normally I charge for those.”

Bloodhound chuckled shortly. Artur stood perched on top of their shoulder, helping himself to a handful of food cupped in their palm. “Artur enjoys a treat before bed. A bad habit, I know. I do not always indulge him. But, he is worried about me,” they murmured, brushing the backs of their fingers beneath his beak. “It has been long since he has seen me homebound and unwell.”

He gave a soft smile, approaching them with careful steps to avoid startling the raven. “Well, rest assured, buddy,” he said to Artur. “I’m going to take real good care of them. I'm not going anywhere until they’re better and back in the Ring.”

The raven shifted on their shoulder and opened its mouth to let out a sharp caw, his head tipping in both curiosity and skepticism. Bloodhound whispered in their native tongue beside Artur’s head, their words reducing him to a calm coo. “He is wary, but willing to trust,” they told him with a smirk. “I suppose you are able to stay.”

Elliott didn’t miss their sarcasm. He laughed, pretending to wipe his brow. “ _Phew!_ Man, you had me worried there for a second.”

Bloodhound lifted their shoulder and motioned to a perch on the wall, watching as Artur took flight to settle upon it. Their attention returned to Elliott. He stood close to them with nothing covering him but the towel around his waist. Without their helmet, they could not hide their lingering gaze. Their eyes dragged over the front of his body, admiring his chiseled arms, chest and abdomen. They followed the trail of hair that ran down his stomach and disappeared behind his towel, their mind running wild with picturing what was hidden from view. 

He noticed their wandering eye, running his fingers through his curls and flashing a smile. “See somethin’ you like? I can be here all night. No, really. I can.”

Bloodhound swallowed a lump caught in their throat and dodged his question. “Will you…be comfortable sleeping out here?”

He waved a hand. Admittedly, a part of him wanted to join them in bed. The kiss had made him _hungry_. He wanted more kisses, more touches, more _Bloodhound_. But, he decided not to press. The last impression he wanted to give them was clingy and desperate. “I’ll be more than comfortable, Hound. I slept out here the other night, and let me tell you, I slept like a baby," he sort of lied. "Don’t worry about me. I’ll be doing enough worrying about you.”

They smiled softly. “Please, do nothing of the sort. I will be fine. You, too, need your rest.” As they started to walk toward the bedroom, they covered a yawn. “ _Góða nótt_ , Elliott. Sleep well.”

“’Night, Hound. You too.”

\- - - -

Elliott found himself even more restless than the night before. Worried thoughts became replaced by smitten daydreams. It had been hours since they had shared a kiss, and yet his mind still felt flooded with dopamine. He kept replaying the moment over and over, re-living the ecstasy of their lips, their touch, their taste. He had to wonder if they were lying awake, staring up at the ceiling as the memory played through their head and left their heart pitter-pattering as much as his.

With a sigh, he sat up. He squinted to read the face of a clock across the room, frowning when the time read the middle of the night. Elliott stood from the couch and ambled aimlessly, as if pacing would put his thoughts to sleep and allow him to do the same. He ended up in the kitchen and in the fridge, figuring a late-night snack might help his case of insomnia. The options weren’t exactly the bad-for-you-but-great-tasting type – fruits, veggies, weird cuts of meat from slaughtered beasts. Bloodhound seemed to be a light eater, and a healthy one at that. Stepping hopefully toward the pantry, he opened it open and found the choices to be no better. He settled for a handful of trail mix, leaning back against the counter to munch while he admired the moon through the window. 

It wasn’t working. He couldn’t shake them from his brain. He entirely expected them to be in his dreams – not that he minded. The effect they had on him was incredible. All it had taken was a kiss – _one_ kiss – and he was all over the place. Dumping the last of the trail mix in his mouth, he washed it down with a swig of tap water and exited the kitchen. He made his way toward the couch, thoroughly prepared to face another battle with sleep.

When coughing erupted from the bedroom.

Elliott whipped his head around. He stilled and tried not to panic, knowing the coughing fit could pass. It continued, however, and started to worsen. He tripped over air in a mad dash for the bedroom. With little to no light to aid him, he kept a hand in front of him to feel through the darkness. Bloodhound attempted to call out to him, but found that the effort exacerbated their condition. Elliott shushed them sweetly when he reached them, switching on the bedside lamp to be able to see. The issue was clear – their oxygen mask had loosened from their face, tumbled over the mattress and fallen out of reach. He bent forward to take it and sit at their side, trying to calm them with a hand on their knee.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he murmured. “In and out, Hound. Breathe.”

One of their hands rested against their ribcage. Their fingers tensed and trembled, practically clawing into the pain in their chest. Elliott frowned worriedly, brushing the backs of his knuckles across their cheek. The coughing fit had brought tears to the corners of their eyes. A tinge of agony sat behind their eyes as they gasped shallow breaths, struggling to oblige. “E-Elli…”

“I’ve gotcha.”

He cradled the back of their head and fixed the mask over their mouth and nose. It soon alleviated their discomfort. Their eyelids fluttered and their chest expanded, tension visibly melting away in a subsequent exhale. The coughs subsided slowly while Elliott draped the respirator’s tubing across the front of their body, ensuring it didn’t tangle or twist. Their hand fell lightly on top of his and he met their eyes, finding their own heavy with emotion.

“Thank you,” they uttered weakly.

He smiled and let their fingers intertwine. “Hey, of course,” he answered warmly. “Fell off while you were sleepin’?”

They nodded. “Apparently.”

“Slaying Goliaths in your sleep?” he teased with a grin.

They mustered a shaky chuckle. “I suppose so. I apologize for disturbing you.”

He shook his head. “You never do. I couldn’t sleep, anyway.”.

Bloodhound furrowed their brow. “Are your arrangements uncomfortable?”

“N-No! No, everything's fine.”

“Then, what is troubling you?”

He hesitated. Now wasn’t the time to go into a spiel about how he couldn’t get them out of his head, how badly he wanted to kiss them again and let the moment play out. He decided to give them a look of reassurance in hopes it would bide their concern. “Nothin’, Hound. I’m just worried about you.”

They turned their head and closed their eyes, wincing as another round of coughs broke from them. It persisted until pain shot through their chest, prompting them to withdraw their hand from his and clutch their lungs. The hunter kept their eyes closed as they let out a groan, their breaths hoarse and ragged. “I am okay now. It will pass."

Elliott took in a breath and let it out slowly, patting their leg as he stood. “Alright. I’m not far if you need me. Anything at all, okay? Get some rest.”

Bloodhound looked at him when the warm touch of his hand left their leg. An unfamiliar need billowed up inside of them, unable to be contained before it spilled out. “Stay,” they said quickly, and no sooner than the words left them, their cheeks tinted red under their mask. “I-I…I would appreciate it if you stayed.”

He blinked in surprise. He stared, as if questioning whether or not his mind was playing tricks on him. The intent in their eyes confirmed what his ears had trouble believing. “You...Y-You sure? I-I don’t, uh…y’know, want to impose or anything.”

“You are not imposing if I offered.”

They shifted to make space beside them and lightly patted the mattress. Elliott put on a small, nervous smile as he approached the opposite side of the bed. Peeling back the bed sheets, he nearly choked upon finding them clad in nothing but an oversized shirt. He quickly averted his eyes and slipped into bed, maintaining an awkward distance between them for the sake of not crossing any lines.

He sat upright, stiff as a board, anxiously eyeing the hunter in his periphery. Bloodhound watched him questioningly. “Is everything alright, Elliott?”

“Y-Yeah!” he answered a bit too promptly. “Never been better!” As much as he wanted to wrap them up in his arms and coo them to sleep, he didn’t want to do anything that might make them uncomfortable and make them change their mind.

Their eyes remained on him. “You are not being honest.”

He looked at them, temporarily speechless by how beautiful they looked in the dim bedroom light. “I feel like I’m a teenager again, e-except a lot more good-looking and a little more self-aware,” he chuckled nervously. “I don’t want to screw up with you, Hound.”

Bloodhound smiled softly with their eyes. “You are far too worried. _Slaka_ , Elliott. Relax.”

Elliott let his posture slacken. Their hand slid against the bed and into the space between them, their fingers a hairsbreadth from his. He looked down at their hand and took it into his own, thumbing sweetly over the back of their palm. “How about I move a little closer?”

They nodded beckoningly. He shimmied against the mattress until he was at their side, his arm weaving delicately around their shoulders. Contentedly, Bloodhound hummed and rested the side of their face against his chest. Elliott watched warmly as they instinctively nuzzled into his shirt. The warmth radiating from beneath it was soothing and pleasing. Their arm draped lazily across his stomach, their eyes closing when his fingers started to move calmingly through their hair.

“Wonderful,” they purred.

He agreed with a smile. “Yeah. Much better.”

Bloodhound tipped their face up at him. Their eyes shimmered with something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, something between affection and adoration. “Thank you.”

Elliott cupped the side of their face. “You got it. Now, let’s get some rest, gorgeous.”

They nodded, letting their eyelids fall before their cheek even returned to his chest. With a stifled yawn, Elliott relaxed, though not even the fogginess of fatigue could cease his fingers through their hair. He listened as their breaths grew further apart, deepening until the lull of sleep pulled them under. He was relieved to no longer see them in pain. He was elated to be with them, holding them and coaxing them to sleep. The feeling of their body nestled against his eased him into a dream. It was a good night’s rest like he had never experienced, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t have experienced it with anyone else.

\- - - - -

It was much later when Elliott woke up. He blinked his eyes open, searching the space around him through sleepy, hazy vision. The late morning sun seeped in through the curtains, coating the room in a soft, welcoming light. His mind was still in dreamland, and the comforting warmth of a body resting against his threatened to pull him back to sleep. A slight tilt of his head told him Bloodhound was still asleep, their arm wrapped snug around his midsection. Elliott lifted his hand to resume tender petting through their hair, the blunt edges of his fingernails scratching lightly against their scalp. Bloodhound stirred with a mumble and pressed closer to his side, tipping their head toward his touch in their slumber.

With a sweet, sleepy smile, Elliott watched them. He wasn’t always the type to sleep late into the morning. This time, he couldn’t blame a long night at the bar for keeping him bedbound until midday. Cuddling with Bloodhound was totally legitimate excuse to lay late in bed. Despite the time, he really didn’t want to get up, and if he could have, he would have stayed cozied up under the covers with them until the sun set again.

Reluctantly, Elliott started to rise. Gingerly, he lifted their arm from across his stomach and set it against the bed. Their hand skirted across the warm spot he had previously occupied, searching for him. Stood at the side of the bed, Elliott bent forward to brush their messy, bed-tousled hair from over their face and whisper gently by their ear, “Not going far. Promise. I’ll be back.”

Breakfast in bed seemed like a wonderful idea. While he was no chef, whipping up a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs and a few strips of bacon seemed easy enough. He rummaged through the kitchen until all the ingredients were set out on the counter. Fetching a mixing bowl from the cabinet, he started with the pancakes, mixing the dry ingredients with the wet until it was well combined. The pan was oiled and hot, sizzling the instant the batter hit its surface. With a satisfied smile, he set down the bowl and switched on another burner to start on the bacon. The meat fell into the pan with a hiss, bringing with it an aroma that made his mouth water. He flipped the pancake and opened the fridge to fetch a carton of orange juice, helping himself to a glass while he waited patiently for the food to cook.

He was already eager to see the look on their face. He imagined Bloodhound would be flattered by the effort he had gone through to make them happy. Elliott zoned out with a dumb look on his face, already picturing the smile they would give him when he walked back into the bedroom with breakfast on a platter.

His daydream came to an abrupt end when he caught scent of burning food.

“What the…” Elliott blinked rapidly and widened his eyes, practically spilling his glass of orange juice as he scrambled to fetch a spatula. A slew of swear words left him under his breath, his face twisting into a cringe when he flipped the pancake to find it burnt. The scrambled eggs and bacon, too, were ruined – overdone and basically inedible.

“Shit,” he grumbled, defeatedly scooping the food onto a plate. “Way to go, Witt. Real smooth.”

Eyeing the bowl of pancake batter over his shoulder, he gathered he had enough for one more try. Again, he went through the motions – ladling the last of the mixture into one pan, and scrambling eggs and sizzling bacon in another. Determined to get it right this time, he stood over the stove and watched with a smirk and folded arms. “Alright. Enough messin’ around. I am _not_ letting you out of my sight this time,” he said to himself, his eyes focused even as he reached for his orange juice. “Nope. Not gonna screw this up again. Not happening.”

As luck would have it, Artur swooped into the kitchen. The raven announced his entrance with a sharp caw and landed on edge of the plate beside the stove. He curiously eyed the burnt food, tipping his head in either direction.

Elliott glared suspiciously at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

Artur cawed again and began to peck away at the food, neverminding its charred and overcooked nature. Elliott attempted to nudge him aside. “Hey. I’m no bird expert, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to eat that,” he scolded, clicking his tongue when his efforts made no difference. “You listening, Feathers? C’mon, knock it off.”

Another gentle nudge prompted Artur to flee. He expanded his wings and took flight, pushing away from the plate with enough force to send it toppling over the counter. Elliott watched in horror as the plate fell, shattering into countless shards mixed with his first, burnt attempt at breakfast. For a moment, he was frozen with disbelief, his jaw hung open. He then closed his mouth and clenched, shooting Artur a look. “Are you _trying_ to get me in trouble?” he half-yelled, trying his best not to wake Bloodhound. “I’m doin’ somethin’ _nice_ here! For Bloodhound! Y’know, _our friend?!_ ”

From his post on top of the cupboards, Artur cawed, and for some reason, Elliott doubted it was a caw of apology. With another string of swear words, he knelt down and started to sweep up the shards and food into a dish towel. He tried his best not to beat himself up about the way the morning was starting to play out. It would turn around for the better – he had to believe it, for his sanity’s sake and Artur’s sake.

A familiar aroma returned. Smoke. Something was burning. Again.

“No, no, no, no…!” Elliott shot upright and looked at the stove. Curse word after curse word spilled out of him as he hurriedly yanked the pans from the stovetop. With a groan, he switched off the heat to the burners and fell back against the counter, staring dejectedly up at the ceiling. “Damnit."

Artur squawked again – maybe out of sympathy, maybe in teasing. Elliott twisted his lip. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. This is all on you, buddy. Can’t a guy do somethin’ romantic?”

The idea was officially a bust. His dream of preparing breakfast in bed for Bloodhound was playing out more like a nightmare. Reluctantly, he dumped the burnt breakfast and the shattered plate into the trash, pushing his fingers through his hair with an exasperated sigh. Searching through the pantry and the fridge a second time provided no promising alternatives. There _was_ the option to start over again, but with his patience tested and his morale crushed, he wasn’t exactly motivated. Then again, making Bloodhound happy meant _everything_ . Hoping the third time was the charm, he turned to face the counter and prepared to start over for the third and final time.

Then, a noise from the bedroom.

Stirring, rustling, a couple of coughs.

Elliott paused and held his breath.

_Not yet, Hound, please don’t be –_

“Elliott? Elliott, are you alright?”

He panicked, frantically rushing to put the ingredients away. His smile was wide, but his voice trembled with anxiety. “Y-Yeah, yeah! A-All good! E-Everything’s good! Couldn’t be better!” he called back to them. “D-Don't get up! I'll be right there! Gimme a second!”

This was bad. They were up, undoubtedly with a hunch that he was up to something in the kitchen. Muttering madly to himself, Elliott pulled open the fridge and scanned for any practical plan B. His eyes landed on a container of leftover pork chops from the day before. It wasn’t the most romantic choice, but his brain couldn’t drum up anything else.

"Desperate times, desperate measures," Elliott sighed as he snatched the container. He let the fridge door shut on its own while he fumbled with the lid. After a clumsy moment, he put a couple of pork chops on a plate and tossed it into the microwave. He fixed a second glass of orange juice while the meat heated up, tapping his foot anxiously on the kitchen floor.

Things were not at all happening like he wanted. He tried to keep it together, pressing the coolness of his glass against his forehead as he let out another sigh. Pork chops. He could hardly believe he was serving them pork chops – _again_. Elliott only hoped Bloodhound wouldn’t be too disappointed. Maybe they would see the goodness in his deeds and overlook his failed, clumsy attempt at breakfast in bed. With an anxious gulp and a short prayer, he downed the last of his orange juice. Pulling the plate of out the microwave, he fumbled for cutlery and their glass before he headed for the bedroom. He replaced his worried smile with one more pleasant, nudging the door open with his shoulder and slipping inside.

“Good mornin’, Hound!” he greeted in singsong, keeping his back to them. “How are you, beautiful?" 

Sat up in bed, Bloodhound looked up from a book in their lap and tipped their head. They slipped a bookmark between the pages and set it aside. “Have you spoiled me again, Elliott?” they asked, removing their mask to reveal a smile. “Whatever you have prepared smells wonderful. I am blessed to have an appetite this morning.”

His smile almost cracked, a tinge of worry touching his face. “O-Oh…! Th-That’s, uh…that’s just great,” he paused at their bedside.

They raised an eyebrow. “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’!”

Elliott wouldn't turn around. They blinked. "What are you hiding?"

“I-It’s a surprise! Just, uh…I need you to promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t be mad.”

Bloodhound clicked their tongue, leaning forward in an effort to peek around him. Elliott twisted away with a groan. Baffled and a little frustrated, they sighed. “You should not be ashamed. You cooked for me yesterday. I enjoyed it very much.”

“W-Well, I’m glad to hear that, because, uh…” He spun around with a wince, presenting the plate and the glass with an uneasy smile. “Ta-da…! Pork chops! Again…”

The small smile on their face became a little smaller. Their eyes dropped from his face to the food in front of them. Confusion was clear on their face. To say it what was they had expected would have been a lie. Pork chops and orange juice made little sense for breakfast. If anything, they had been expecting a more typical breakfast spread, though they supposed Elliott was anything but a typical guy.

Catching their smile before it could fall into a frown, they sighed through their nose and looked endearingly into his eyes. “It is the thought that matters, Elliott,” they told him, bringing their hand to the side of his face. “You show heart, and you are kind for doing this. Thank you."

Their response came as a slight surprise. A part of him thought they would be upset for causing such a hub-bub in the kitchen, only to produce _this_. He grinned sheepishly. “You sure? Don’t hold back, Hound. I’ll run back in there and whip you up somethin’ good if you’d rather – ”

“That would not be necessary,” they said, thumbing over his cheek.

“A-Alright. M’sorry. Th-This morning was all over the place. Crazy, really. Like somethin’ straight out of a sitcom,” he chuckled nervously. “I-I didn’t mean for this to – ”

Bloodhound silenced him with a kiss.

Elliott visibly deflated, letting his smile widen against their lips before he pulled away. “I get it. Shut up and quit worrying, huh?”

They laughed lightly. “Yes. There is no use in worrying about what is already done. I assure you I will be satisfied.” They took the plate and balanced it in their lap. “Now, let me enjoy it before it gets cold. Where is yours?”

He sat beside them, setting down their glass and handing them their cutlery. “Didn’t get a chance to fix myself anything. I’m not kidding when I say this morning was crazy.”

Bloodhound began to eat, arching their brow. “Oh?”

He blew out a sigh. “Long story short – I burned the food. Twice. First time, it was my fault. I was, uh…kinda-sorta daydreaming and, the next thing I know, the food’s burning. Second time, it was your crow – I mean, _raven’s_ fault. He tried to eat food I’m pretty sure he shouldn’t eat, flipped over a plate and shattered it. Made a mess.” He scratched the back of his head. “Sorry about the plate.”

They shook their head. “It is no matter. I apologize for Artur’s behavior. It is not like him to be such a little _plága_. He must find amusement in teasing you.”

“Yeah. Lucky me,” he huffed. “You go ahead and enjoy. I’ll each somethin’ later. I’m not super hungry yet.”

As if in betrayal, his stomach made a sound that immediately tinted his cheeks. Bloodhound paused their chewing to smile and cut away a bite for him, bringing the prongs of their fork close to his mouth. “Do not be polite for the sake of it. Here. I am happy to share.”

He hesitated, looking between the food at the end of their fork and the sweet sincerity in their eyes. “You need your strength, Hound. You said you were hungry.”

They made a face. “I will not perish from sparing a few bites.”

Bloodhound nudged the food against his lips, humming contentedly when he opened up and accepted the bite with no further protest. Their meal proceeded with little conversation, but plenty of smiles and laughs between shared bites of food. Elliott didn’t mind being fed one bit. They were gentle and generous, and he was surprised to feel full once the plate was empty. Bloodhound reached for their glass and sipped at their juice, watching over the rim as Elliott kindly collected the plate from their lap.

“Did that hit the spot? I feel like I ate half of your plate,” he chuckled.

“It was plenty and delicious. Thank you again,” they answered, handing him their emptied glass. They turned their eyes to a nearby clock. “I should bathe. It is well into the afternoon.”

Elliott extended a hand to help them out of bed. “Why don’t I draw you a bath? Would you like that? You can soak in it as long as you’d like. I’ll take care of clean-up.”

Bloodhound started to nod, but stopped to tip their head. “What about you? It would be impolite of me to indulge in a bath and leave you to tend to chores.”

He dismissed their worries with a smile. “Nah, I offered. I don’t mind one bit.”

They shook their head “I would not be comfortable.”

He blinked. “Hound, it’s alright! Just a few dishes and a little wipin’ up. Nothin’ crazy.”

Bloodhound folded their arms. It was clear their message wasn’t getting through to him. Elliott wasn’t reading between the lines. A blush spread slowly across their face before they even spoke. “…I am asking you to _join_ me, Elliott.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “C-Come again?”

They kept eye contact. “You did not mishear me.”

The shocked look on his face slowly dissipated. His lips curled into a bashful, crooked smile. “I-I, uh…I mean, su-sure…!” he stammered – anxious, excited and eager all at once. “L-Lemme just…G-Give me a second to put these in the sink and I’ll be right – ”

They stepped forward and pulled him into a tender kiss. "No. Leave it," they murmured, pulling back to let him see the desire dancing behind their eyes. "I do not wish to wait a moment more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in the next chapter... ;)


	6. A Bath for Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so, so, SO sorry that this update took longer than usual. Between work and school, I have been spread pretty thin. I am so happy to be posting another chapter for this story - finally.
> 
> In other news, THANK YOU for 1,000 hits! :) <3 I can't believe it. All of the love has been tremendous and I can't say thank you enough. 
> 
> Also, I want to start replying to all of you in the comments! <3 So, please kudos and comment as always. Enjoy the update!
> 
> Smut ahead.

Warm water poured from the faucet and into the bathtub, steam rising and fogging the bathroom mirror. A dollop of bubble bath produced foaming, perfumed suds that permeated the air with a pleasant aroma. Knelt down beside the bathtub, Elliott tested the temperature of the water with his hand, and he made a slight adjustment with a twist of the faucet. He wanted everything to be perfect. Bloodhound deserved nothing less. The more he thought about the bath the two of them would soon share together, the more excited he became. His heart beat quicker, more rapidly circulating the jitters of delight and nervousness already coursing through his body. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made him feel so _smitten_.

With the bath drawn, he peered over his shoulder and called out, “Hey, Hound? Bath’s ready!”

The door opened a moment later. Bloodhound stood in the threshold, dressed only in a towel. Their bed-tousled hair was fixed in a bun, wispy strays framing the defined features of their face. As they approached him, they met his eyes, their gaze a bit demure like their smile. Elliott mimed their expression, standing straight as they drew near. The hunter fondly noted the awaiting bath behind him. “It looks wonderful.” They paused, assessing him briefly. “However, you do not yet looked dressed for a bath.”

“You mean ‘un-dressed,’” Elliott winked.

Bloodhound made a face at him. “Yes. Undressed. Preferably before the bathwater cools.”

They granted him all of the privacy they could offer, stepping past him to better admire the bath he had prepared for them. Elliott swallowed a lump of welling nerves before he hooked his fingers under the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He tossed it aside and slipped out of his sweatpants and underwear in one fell swoop, leaving him entirely unclothed. The realization of standing naked in the same room as Bloodhound sent his mind into a tailspin. It was nearly surreal and the sexual tension between them was tangible. He swore he could feel heat radiating off of their body, amplifying the already enveloping warmth of bathroom air.

Elliott snatched a towel from the counter and tied it loosely around his waist. “Alright, all set,” he told them. “You ready to – ”

His words caught in his throat when he turned around.

Bloodhound faced the bathtub, their towel lying in a heap at their ankles. Their back faced him, strong, sturdy and marked with scars from battles old and new. Their fingers pulled away their hair tie, releasing a dark mane of loose waves and curls from undone braids. His eyes followed the curve of their back, settling on the dimples at the base of their spine and the firm, solid muscle of their shapely behind. They turned their head to meet his lingering gaze from over their shoulder. They smiled at him and gestured beckoningly. “Come, Elliott.”

His heart leapt to his throat. Their hand extended to him and he wasted little time in accepting it, joining them beside the bathtub. It took every bit of brainpower to keep his eyes forward. Elliott wanted to stare and embed their beauty in his mind forever. His hold on their hand tightened in his effort to concentrate, though Bloodhound thankfully made no comment. Instead, they used him as support as they stepped one foot at a time into the bathwater.

Once they were sat, Bloodhound let out a contented sigh. They leaned back and looked up at him. “Do you wish to join me?”

He quickly reached down to unwrap the towel from around his waist. “Y-Yeah! Of course.” 

His towel hit the floor with a soft thud. Instantly, Bloodhound flushed. Their eyes dragged over the front of his body, adoring every part of him with unmistakable hunger. They admired the rigid muscle that rippled under his tanned skin, defining his strong arms and contoured abdomen. Their interest fell and lingered lower, particularly on the trimmed, yet thick hair above his considerable length. Elliott was, without argument, a real spectacle of masculine beauty. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't practically perfect, seemingly hand-carved by the Gods to be without flaw. 

They met his eyes as he approached, the crooked smile on his face making their heart miss a beat. He stepped into the bathtub and faced them, immersing himself with a satisfied sigh. There was more than enough space for both of them to comfortably recline and extend their legs. Elliott relaxed against the tub wall and motioned for Bloodhound to join his side. They obliged with a blush, shifting in the water until their shoulders were tucked into the curve of his arm. His fingers combed gently through their hair, prompting them to rest their head against him. 

Elliott looked down at them with a warm smile. “How you feelin’?”

“Good,” they murmured. “I have always found baths to be…therapeutic. Your company makes it all the more so.”

He let his smile widen. “Glad to hear it. I’ve never been much of a bath guy, but I could get used to this. You look comfortable.”

They nodded with a quiet hum. “I am. I could nap. A warm bath has lulled me to sleep before – and you make for a comfortable pillow.”

He let out a laugh, watching his finger twirl a lock of their hair. “Try to keep those eyes open, sleepyhead,” he grinned. “Unless you want to wake up lookin’ like a prune.”

“That would not be ideal,” they answered lightheartedly. They tipped their chin up to meet his eyes. “Would it be trouble to ask you to wash my hair?”

He quickly shook his head. “Never any trouble, Hound.”

He carefully slipped his arm from around their shoulders, mindful of their healing wound. Bloodhound shifted from his side to settle between his legs. They leaned back against him, fighting a shiver when his front brushed against their behind. Elliott tilted their head back with a gentle hand. He cupped water in his palm and poured it over their hair, slowly and thoroughly dampening their dark locks. Bloodhound responded with pleased hum. They closed their eyes and angled their face in all directions, helping him ensure no strand of hair was missed.

Resting their head against his chest, Elliott reached for the shampoo and applied a dollop to his palm. Beginning at the nape of their neck, he massaged his fingers through their hair, working the shampoo into a gentle lather. Bloodhound arched against him, practically purring like a petted cat. Heat surged through his veins and pooled in his belly, his mind fighting to focus on anything other than the their writhing body. He reached for the bathtub wand and rinsed their scalp until he could no longer see suds of shampoo. He then took the conditioner and squeezed a generous glob into his hand. He rubbed his palms together and started to spread it through their hair, finger-combing to distribute it evenly and thoroughly.

He craned his head to glance at their face. They looked to be in bliss, with their lids lowered and their lips fixed in a smile. As he continued to massage their scalp, he asked them, “Feels good, huh?”

Bloodhound made an affirming noise. “Yes, Elliott. _Ótrúlegt_.”

Elliott paused, arching an eyebrow. “Say what now?”

An unexpected laugh left them, his confusion genuinely amusing. “Incredible. Fantastic,” they translated, tipping their head back further to look up at him, upside down. “You are doing wonderfully.”

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing,” he said with a mirrored smile, easing aside dampened strands of hair that clung to their forehead. “Turn around for me. Time to rinse.”

They straightened and faced him, closing their eyes as he rinsed their hair of conditioner. He swept back the hair that fell over their face and let his palm settle against their cheek. Bloodhound lifted their eyelids to look at him with flushed, rosied cheeks, droplets of water beaded on their fair skin. Elliott’s eyes admired their face, taking in their distinct and unique beauty. “You are _gorgeous_ ,” he whispered, low and husky. “Have I told you that?”

Under his hand, they smiled. “A number of times.”

“Better get used to hearing it a few _hundred_ times – a day,” he winked with a grin.

Amused, Bloodhound chuckled. Their eyes softened as they held his gaze. Elliott had a gift for unraveling the complexities of their character. To many, they were an enigma, a private, yet valorous hunter whose devout faith, quiet disposition and unmatched prowess made them appear more demi-god than human. But, with Elliott, they were at ease. They were _human_. They could show vulnerability without fear of criticism. They could share their thoughts without judgement. They could be _themself_. He treasured and respected them. It was overwhelming.

Elliott tilted his head as he thumbed over their cheek. “What’s on your mind, Hound?”

“You, Elliott,” they murmured.

He smiled. “Yeah?”

They nodded. “I thank the Gods for gifting me with your care. My recovery cannot be attributed to the Allfather alone. You have been patient and kind, and have spoiled me at every chance. I am blessed.”

His hazel eyes warmed. “I could say the same, Hound. You make it really easy to feel blessed. Bein’ here with you? Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Bloodhound could have melted. They struggled to find an appropriate response, their heart flooded with something words couldn’t express. He cared for them as much as they cared for him, and hearing his affirming words made them feel protected, secure and adored. Elliott started to trace the web of scars that spanned beautifully over their face. He took his time, adoring them, cherishing each and every mark with a gentle, deliberate touch. Their skin flushed under his fingertips. Without thinking, they leaned forward until their warm breath wisped against his beard. Elliott cradled their jaw as he wet his lips, slowly and lovingly meeting their lips in sweet, tender kiss. 

Bloodhound hummed low in their throat, their brow already furrowed with need. Their hands reached out for him, eager fingers and sharp nails pressing into the sturdiness of his skin. Elliott’s own slipped up the back of their neck and into their hair, tangling tightly in their dark tresses. Their tongue grazed against his parting lips before it slipped inside, deepening the kiss with growing intensity. Muffled moans and panting breaths echoed off of the bathroom walls. Even as air became a necessity, neither dared to break away. Instead, Bloodhound pressed into him until his back hit the tub wall, sharp teeth taking his bottom lip in a hungry, needy nibble.

“F-Fuck,” he groaned, arching beneath them.

He gasped when they released his lip from their bite, his mind wild with desire. He started to kiss the corner of their mouth, their cheek and their jaw, his lips fluttering over the sensitive side of their neck as he told them, “You’re drivin’ me _crazy_.” He grinded his hips against them. His hardening cock brushed against theirs, evoking a gasp from the hunter. “I wanna make you feel good. _So_ bad.”

Bloodhound surrendered, craning their head back to give him better access. Elliott wasted no time in sucking a bruise into the hollow of their throat. The pain was a welcome contrast to his normally tender touch, eliciting breathless whines and whimpers that made him smile against their skin. The hand against the back of their neck pressed them closer, and he took their mouth in a kiss that was hungrier than the first.

Bloodhound shuddered. Every carnal wish and desire consumed their brain. They wanted _everything_ from Elliott, wanted to give in to him and every ounce of pleasure he could offer. Their eyelids were already heavy with lust, their mouth swollen and pouty from being lip-locked. When finally able to speak, they looked at him, conveying every want and need through the hunger in their eyes. “ _Please_ , Elliott.”

He smiled between breaths. “Tell me, Hound.”

They pleaded with their gaze. “ _Please_. Touch me.”

He obliged, slipping both of his hands beneath the water. He took their hips and guided them forward until their legs wrapped around his waist. One hand dipped over the small of their back, sliding over the length of their spine and the curve of their ass. The other roamed over their the their thigh, gripping and massaging solid, taut muscle. Bloodhound trembled, snaking their arms around his neck for support. His calloused palm felt wonderful against their skin. His fingers fanned and stretched toward their erection. Anticipation coiled like a tight spring in the stomach, snapping the moment he curled his hand around them and stroked – slowly, smoothly, steadily.

Bloodhound arched and gasped his name. "E-Elliott..."

He watched them. "Is that good?"

They nodded. He kept lustful eyes fixed on their face. Their features scrunched up as they savored his touch, their skin radiant with a rosy blush and sheen of sweat. They bucked into his hand, shamelessly chasing the need coursing through them. His controlled pace was torturous, spreading a gradual and pleasant heat through their body. Elliott meant to take his time, intent on relishing every moment of their unraveling. His lips traced the line of their jaw as his thumb swept over their tip, prompting the hunter to release a shuddering cry. Elliott echoed them with a groan. He loved the dichotomy of their character – around most, they were a quiet, reserved person of stature, but around him, they could be unabashed, unrestrained and sensual. Gently, he took their face and turned it toward his. He thumbed over their bottom lip, watching as they gnawed it and struggled to stifle a groan.

“Don’t hold back,” he rumbled. “I love it. I wanna hear you.”

Elliott gave their cock a careful squeeze. Bloodhound responded at once, struggling to maintain even a shred of composure under his quickening pace. His fist tightened and he used the slickness of the water as a convenient aid, letting his palm glide easily against their length. Bloodhound wrapped their arms tighter around his neck until his breath was nearly constricted. Their fingers twisted and tugged his curls, their chest pressed flush to his. Elliott kissed their mouth again, echoing their gasping moans with throaty groans. The rocking and thrusting of their hips into his hand became increasingly uneven. The way their thighs flexed and squeezed around his waist told him their climax was near. The thought alone was maddening. He felt himself grow harder, and as much as he wanted to watch orgasm overtake them, he wasn’t done.

He slowed his pumping to a halt and withdrew his hand. Bloodhound whined in objection, scraping their nails against his scalp in a wordless plea for him to resume. Elliott broke the kiss, reaching behind them to tap the edge of the bathtub . “Hound. Take a seat for me,” he panted. “I’m not done with you yet, gorgeous.”

Their lust-hazed mind could hardly process his request. Bloodhound shifted from his lap with a dazed nod and lifted from the water. The cool bathroom air peppered their skin in goosebumps. They shivered as they sat, facing him with their legs parted. Elliott settled in front of them on his hands and knees, the round curve of his ass peaking from beneath the bathwater. He took his time admiring them. Their chest and shoulders were adorned in an expanse of tattoos, depicting aspects of their faith and culture in intricate detail. Their body was lean, but built with muscle that flexed with every movement. The hair below their abdomen was neatly-groomed and their erection stood firm, pulsing with anticipation.

Elliott ran his tongue over his lips. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful.” He started to press delicate, teasing kisses along their inner thigh. “Damn, was I wrong.”

Bloodhound squirmed, gripping the edge of the bathtub. Elliott left no inch of skin overlooked. He brushed his cheek against their skin, the bristly hairs of his heard sending a shiver up their spine. Their awaiting cock throbbed beside his face. Beads of pre-cum drooled at the tip, beckoning him to relieve the aching need that anguished them. His lips curved into a smile as he pulled nearer. He turned naughty, hazel eyes to their face. “Sit back. Relax,” he purred. “I’ll take good care of you.”

They braced themself, gazing yearningly into his face. The muscles of the abdomen twitched as his lips swept along the length of their cock, toying with and teasing them. He opened his mouth to drag his tongue against the underside with agonizing patience, tracing every vein, curve and ridge of their shaft. Bloodhound let out a strangle moan, reaching out to twist and tangle their fingers in his hair. Their hips shuddered and they tugged. Elliott groaned encouragingly, maintaining long licks and unwavering eye contact.

“A-Ah…! E-Elli…Elliott,” they trembled.

Licking a long stripe up to their tip, he lapped away beads of pre-cum and swallowed. “Delicious, babe,” he said against them, his breath hot against even hotter flesh. He wrapped his hand around the base of their cock and started to pump their spit-slicked skin. “I’ve _got_ to have more.”

The rise and fall of their chest quickened. Bloodhound chewed into their bottom lip as they anticipated the inevitable. Elliott leaned forward with parted lips and took them into the wet heat of his mouth. They shivered and arched, moan after moan tearing from their lips. Their hips shook, desperate to thrust deeper into the mouth that slowly guided them in, inch by painstaking inch. He swallowed around them and took to a rhythm. Every bob of his head and pump of his fist worked them into a daze. His tongue arched, his throat clenched and his lips suctioned. The pleasure was dizzying. For a second, they swore they couldn’t handle it. As incoherent swears left them in breathless gasps, they felt tempted to beg for mercy – but desire trounced. 

Bloodhound bucked and thrusted into his mouth, panting Elliott’s name like a prayer. He never looked away. They stared into the hazel depths of his eyes as he swallowed them whole, as he tongued over the seam of their balls and thoroughly slathered their length in his saliva. Their slickened cock slid wetly and effortlessly in his hand. His lips sealed around their swollen head, nursing the leaking tip while he continued to pump them at a merciless pace. The heat inside of them swelled. It surged through their veins and flooded their senses until it was nearly unbearable.

With his lips just above their cock, he begged them, “Cum for me, Hound. C’mon. Cum for me.”

Further and further, Bloodhound unraveled. They failed to maintain his gaze as they fell hard into their orgasm. Their body snapped into an arch and they threw their head back, pupils rolling back beneath fluttering eyelids. Their full lips parted and their brow knitted together, their fingers curling even tighter in his hair. Elliott did not tear his eyes away for a second. He savored the sight, watching the beautiful way their climax rattled them and electrified every fiber of their body. The taste of their release flooded his mouth. He accepted it with a moan. Bloodhound shuddered as he pumped them until they were thoroughly spent, their hazy eyes watching the thick bob his throat when he swallowed.

Pulling back, Elliott stretched his jaw and licked his lips. Panting, Bloodhound sat at the edge of the bathtub, gripping it tightly as if ecstasy might send them toppling. The familiar feeling of his lips against their inner thigh kept them grounded. Their fingers moved adoringly through his hair as he coaxed them through their dwindling climax with soft, pecking kisses. With wobbly arms, Bloodhound re-joined him in the bath. They took his face in their hands and claimed his mouth in a heavy kiss. Elliott smiled against their mouth and slipped his arm around them to draw them nearer. His hand snaked between them to wrap around his own needy cock. Pleasing Bloodhound had worked him up to the point of ache, and his erection begged to be relieved.

Bloodhound took immediate interest. They spoke to him between gasping breaths, “Elliott, what would you like me to – ”

“J-Just…kiss me.”

The kiss intensified. Bloodhound melted against him with their arms woven around his neck, their body anchored to his strength and warmth. Their tongues tangled and writhed, their mouths moving urgently, desperately. Elliott groaned when Bloodhound again captured his lip between sharp teeth, releasing it with something between a snarl and a moan. He continued to pump himself, his breathing heavy and ragged against their face. They pressed him further against the tub wall and attacked his throat with ravenous kisses and bites, leaving behind reddened marks and dark hickeys that they soothed with their lapping tongue. His body tremored when their mouth swept upward to nibble his earlobe. Their hand replaced his around his cock, seamlessly resuming his pumping at an even quicker pace. 

Elliott let out a choked moan, hitting his head back against the wall. “F-Fuck, fuck…! H-Hound, I-I'm...I'm gonna...”

Bloodhound worked him with unrelenting vigor, making his toes curl until they hurt. Their lips made their way back to his in a kiss that stole any remaining breath. He felt himself coming undone in their hand. Every pump of their fist pulled him closer and closer to his climax. With blinding force, his orgasm hit him. Streams of his release shot between their fingers and into the surrounding water as his hips trembled, every thrust weaker and shakier than the last. Bloodhound watched as his body stiffened and shuddered, his face flushed and full lips agape. They peppered his face with kisses while they murmured adoring words of praise, pumping him until he started to shake with overstimulation.

“Yes, _elskan,_ ” they purred. “Yes.”

His mind swimming, Elliott sank back with a sigh. He panted with parted lips, his smile crooked and exhausted. “F-Fuck. Y-You are…you’re incr-incred …you’re _amazing_.”

They smiled, slipping their arms around his neck. “And you are as well, Elliott. You cherish me in ways I do not deserve.”

He made a face at them, pouting in protest. “Nonsense. You deserve the world, Hound, and so, so, _so_ much more. Now, I can’t exactly _promise_ to give you that, but hey, I’ll try my best,” he grinned.

Bloodhound let out a laugh. It was light and lilting, and their smile beamed with delight. Elliott felt his heart beam, his arms coming to rest around their back as they drew closer. “You already do so much for me.”

His hazel eyes warmed and lowered to their lips as his fingers swept through their hair. With a dazed smile, he kissed them. It was a slow and sweet kiss, accompanied by breathy, entwined moans and nose-touches that made both of them giggle. The kiss left both of their mouths tingling when they pulled apart. Elliott cradled the side of their face, thumbing over the indent of their smile on their cheek. “Do we have to get out? Please say no. I could stay here with you all day.”

Bloodhound hummed. “Yes, I know. As could I. But, it is best we leave before we, as you say, ‘look like a prune.’”

“Fair enough,” Elliott agreed, withdrawing his arms to let them slip away. “Y’know, this is the first time I’ve taken a bath and gotten _dirtier_ instead of cleaner.”

They chuckled amusedly. “It is a first for both of us. Come, let us drain the water and share a shower instead.” Their eyes glinted as they looked to him, their lips curled in a smirk. “ _Behaving_ ourselves, this time.”


	7. Like a Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! It's time for another update. :) 1.5k hits - ugh! Thank you all so, so, so much for the continued love and support. I am having a lovely time writing this story and your feedback fuels me. <3
> 
> This chapter begins with a continuation of the previous. Except a little bit of smut and plenty of fluff ahead. I hope you enjoy the read and, as always, please comment and kudos! <3

To neither one of their surprises, they did not behave. They were as hungry for one another as they had been in the bath. They couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, becoming wound up in a resurgence of need the instant the water hit their skin. Bloodhound found themself pressed against the shower wall, pleading for more within the tiny breaths they could muster with Elliott’s mouth on their own. He kissed them passionately, claiming their lips with a kind of longing that made their entire body light up with desire.

His tongue swiped and nudged past the steam of their mouth, tangling with theirs. The heat pulsing through them surged. He took their face in his hands and grinded his hips hard against theirs, swallowing the noises that tumbled from their throat. Bloodhound reciprocated, thrusting against him in a desperate chase for release. 

With their fingers twisting in his hair, they shuddered when his hand wrapped around them with a firm grip. He pumped them in time with their bucking, echoing the increasingly breathy moans that escaped them as they neared orgasm. Their lips pressed harder against his when they reached their climax, their release shooting against and dripping down the rigid grooves of his abdomen.

Elliott let out a groan, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth as their body quaked against his. Their trembling hand reached for his erection and pumped him with steady vigor, bringing him to a swift, breathtaking release. He painted their stomach in thick, white stripes, watching through hazy eyes as it became washed away by the water raining over them from the shower head.

The way Bloodhound met his eyes with a sweet, lust-dazed smile made him melt. He mirrored it sweetly, leaning forward to kiss them again – deeply, slowly, sensually. A feeling welled up in his heart that made it want to burst. It made him hold them tighter, kiss them harder. He didn’t want the moment to end, completely caught up in the infectious, addictive effect they had on him.

But, to both of their chagrins, the moment had to end. The rest of their shared shower was spent tending to necessity, cleaning their bodies as initially intended. Elliott paid tender attention to the recovering wound on their shoulder. He washed it, delicately cleaning the tender skin with a washcloth. Bloodhound kept their eyes on him, feeling heat tint their cheeks as his handsomeness dawned on them like it was their first time seeing him up close. Elliott sensed their stare and smiled even before he lifted his eyes, sealing his sweet deed with a kiss.

When the shower finished, they stepped out and dried off. Both of them neglected to get dressed, opting to remain wrapped up in a bath towel. The evening’s pleasures had roused an appetite, and Elliott grinned when Bloodhound proposed ordering takeout. As they waited for dinner to arrive, they passed the time on the couch, enjoying lazy snuggles and mindless television. Elliott found his attention mostly on Bloodhound, marveling how striking they looked in the flickering light from the screen. More than once, his lips found themselves on their temple and forehead, their cheeks and chin, bringing contented hums and sighs from their lips. They kissed him, letting their body relax into him when his arms wove tighter around them.

They were delighted to eat to their hearts content once dinner arrived. Bloodhound was unsure whether to attribute the return of their appetite to their improving condition or to their evening with Elliott. Either way, they thoroughly enjoyed their meal, sharing and accepting bites of food until both of them were full.

With their hunger satiated and their body tuckered out, they were soon asleep against him. Elliott looked away from the television with a yawn, glancing warmly to the body lying against his. Their head lay against his chest, their lips parted to pass slow, gentle breaths. He ran his fingers through their hair, untangling knots from the shower. Bloodhound stirred, mumbling an incoherent plea for the petting to continue. He chuckled softly, and as much as he didn’t want to wake them, he knew it would be best for them to end the evening in bed rather than on the couch.

He continued finger-combing their hair, leaning forward to murmur by their ear. “Hey, Hound,” he said softly. “Let’s get up, alright?”

Bloodhound furrowed their brow. “ _Nei_ , Elliott. I am comfortable.”

He let out a laugh. “I know, gorgeous. Pretty sure you’d be a _lot_ more comfortable in bed, though.”

“I am fine,” they insisted drowsily, the sleep in their voice richening their accent. “Take my bed, if you wish. However, I’d much prefer you stay.”

Elliott made a face. “And _I’d_ much prefer you joined me. C’mon. I’ll help you. Should probably get you to your respirator anyway. You haven’t used it since this afternoon, and I’d hate for you to wake up feelin’ worse when you’re gettin’ better.”

They seemed to drift off again. “Five minutes, _elskan_.”

He pouted. “Pretty please? I’ll be your pillow.”

They buried a yawn against his chest and conceded. “Very well.”

Bloodhound peeled themself from against him with a groan, neverminding the blanket and bath towel that slipped away to reveal their naked frame. Elliott stumbled as he stood, unable to avert his eyes. It didn’t matter if he had seen them undressed before. Their beauty would always make him catch his breath for as long as they were around him.

He was able to recover from his stumble with rare grace. He cleared his throat and followed their weary amble into the bedroom. Patiently, he helped them into bed and cradled the back of their head as he fitted their face with their respirator. Despite their fatigue, Bloodhound did not neglect to thank him. As promised, he served as their human pillow and smiled as Bloodhound cozied close to his side. They shifted to lie on their stomach, one arm tucked beneath their pillow and the other draped over his middle. The fluttering of his fingers down the divot of their spine coaxed them to sleep, their breathing lulling to a calm, easy pace. The warmth of their body seeped into his, until the flow of his breath matched theirs and he calmly slipped into a dream.

\- - -

The early morning was usually a thorn in his side. Elliott had never been fond of abandoning the comfort of his bed when the sun had barely risen. He preferred to laze around without concern, rolling from one side of the mattress to the other until he absolutely _had_ to get up. But, this morning was different. Bloodhound was beside him, curled up like a kitten against his side. Their nearness made him forget about the usual early morning unpleasantries. Any drowsiness, aches and pains and general dread was nonexistent. He felt like a new man, completely crediting the newfound pep in his step to Bloodhound alone – and, of course, the previous evening’s pleasures.

Elliott combed his fingers through their hair, a smile pulling at his mouth. A muffled hum left them from behind their mask and their cheek nudged into his chest. He leaned forward to press a tender kiss to their temple, tilting his head with surprise to find their eyelids fluttering open. “Well, good mornin’, gorgeous,” he purred. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Bloodhound looked up at him through bed-tousled hair. “ _Góðan daginn, elskan_. It is no issue,” they answered through the thickness of lingering sleep. “What is the time?”

“Early,” he grinned before taking a glance at their bedside clock. “A little before eight.”

They nodded. “I am normally an early riser. Earlier than this. Daybreak has blessed me with many a bountiful hunt. Sunrise, too, brings me peace."

Elliott listened warmly. “I’ll have to join you sometime. It’d be fun – the sunrise part, at least. I can’t promise to be any good at hunting.”

Bloodhound let out a quiet laugh. “It only requires patience and practice. You are capable.” They paused to press further into him, yawning. “I am tempted to lie here with you longer.”

“I hear ya. I slept like a rock.” The sweet smile on his face turned suggestive, his fingers running again through their hair and down the length of their spine. “You did a number on me yesterday. Nothin’s wiping this smile off my face today.”

Their cheeks reddened, bashful eyes briefly averting. “Likewise. My sleep was restful.” They arched against him in a stretch, a hum sounding deep in their chest as they released the stiffness of slumber from their muscles. “Let us rise and seize the early day. It would be unwise to waste it.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You sure? Rest, Hound. You need all you can get.”

Bloodhound still shook their head. “I am sure. I feel fine, Elliott. Let me make good use of the strength the Allfather has given me today.” Minding their shoulder wound, they carefully shifted upright and slipped from his side. “Come. I’ll make tea.”

\- - -

Tea had never been his go-to. Elliott much preferred coffee in the morning, finding that the bitter taste and high caffeine fueled his productivity. Bloodhound, on the other hand, was fond of tea. It suited their fancy, for reasons that included the simple satisfaction of brewing and steeping the hot drink, along with its inarguable benefits for the mind and body. Elliott tried to keep an open mind and a straight face when he sipped from the mug that was handed to him, although Bloodhound saw his brow twitch with uncertainty. They laughed at him, sipping from their own mug, and to their relief, Elliott eventually grew used to the taste.

Breakfast was light – tea, toast and a selection of fruit. When they finished, Elliott insisted on cleaning up. He eased them out of the kitchen with a nudge, quieting their protests with a kiss. Bloodhound looked over their shoulder as they retreated to the bathroom, unable to feign upset when he flashed them his charming smile. They had not yet grown used to his selflessness. It seemed boundless and always sincere, and never failed to make their heart flutter. The feeling in their chest swelled into something greater when they stepped into the shower and instantly became inundated with memories of the previous evening. As clear as day, they could see Elliott against them, his body hard and unyielding as he kept them pressed against the wall. They could feel his hands on their skin, his fingers in their hair, lust raw and rampant between their lip-locked bodies.

Bloodhound slid a hand over faint marks on their skin. A sigh left them, the heat of the shower matching the heat of their returning need. They had just awoke, and _already_ , they yearned for his touch. With reluctance, they warded off desirous daydreams and resisted the temptation to delve deeper into their thoughts. Their shower took no more than a few minutes, and soon, they emerged from the bathroom with a towel around their waist and another around their hair. They stepped across their apartment to the second bathroom and knocked lightly, peering curiously through the ajar door. “Elliott?”

He stood in front of the sink, clad only in a pair of briefs that left little to the imagination. He glanced aside and met their eyes with a warm smile. “Don’t you look absolutely adorable,” he gushed, eyeing the towel on their head. “I’ve gotta say, that’s _really_ a look for you, Hound.”

They huffed something between a chuckle and a snort, lifting both hands to undo the towel. “I would like to spend time outside today,” they told him, letting their hair fall to their shoulders in loose, damp waves. “I have been without the open air for too long.”

His expression turned concerned. “You sure? Aren’t you supposed to be layin’ low?”

“A walk will not tax me,” they assured. “Nature heals. It will aid my recovery.”

He opened his mouth, prepared to bombard them with worry. He stopped himself, agreeing with a nod and a smile. “Alright. If you say so. Just no runnin’ laps around the complex. Deal?”

They gave him a sarcastic smirk as they turned on their heel. “So be it.”

\- - -

The weather was pleasant. Dressed in light layers, Bloodhound turned their face toward a passing breeze. The morning sun warmed their skin with a familiar comfort they had missed. The wind rustled the grass and twisted the leaves. Even with their respirator donned, they could sense and appreciate the crispness of the outside air. It was a welcome change to the stagnant space of their home. It immediately invigorated them.

Bloodhound and Elliott maintained a leisurely stroll. Walking trails circled the Legends’ complex, offering all a chance to wander the grounds and escape into nature. Despite such, the hunter did not tend to frequent the trails. Compared to their usual treks, the trails had a tendency to grow mundane. They preferred to venture to more remote areas and become immersed in the beauty of isolation, the thrill of a hunt and the vastness of their surroundings. But, with their health compromised, such would have to wait.

Strolling with Elliott brought them a kind of joy that rivaled any trip into the unknown. He was mindful and patient, matching their slower, warier steps, all the while making them laugh with stupid jokes that would never even make them smile had they come from someone else. He didn’t fuss at them when they grew distracted by something as seemingly trivial as a flower. He instead stood at their side, endeared by their natural curiosity as they knelt to pluck it from swaying blades of grass and twirled it between their gloved fingers. Elliott watched, looking from the face of their helmet to the vibrant flower petals. “What’cha got there, Hound?”

They brought the flower close to their face as they stood, wordlessly marveling. “This flower…it reminds me of home,” they said quietly. “Winters were bitter, but Spring was always abundant – before the Meltdown. Beautiful flowers would bloom throughout my village, similar to this one. I found a hobby in collecting them."

Elliott softened. Bloodhound had a gift for finding charm in all that surrounded them. From a fragile flower to a mighty beast – in their eyes, all possessed beauty. He had never met anyone like them. Most people he knew would pay no mind to half of the things the hunter took interest in. The quirk was as endearing as it was adorable.

He gently slipped the flower from their fingers. “Did someone say ‘beautiful?’ Funny.” He tucked the flower into a notch on their helmet, his lips fixed in a swooning smile. “Reminds me of a certain someone.”

Although their face was hidden, their flattery was clear in the way they dipped their head. “Thank you, Elliott. But…we are not at home. There could be watching eyes.”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug,. “Yeah? Let ‘em look. It’s not every day people see a guy like me walkin’ around with the most beautiful person in the Outlands.”

They laughed softly through their nose. “Your words are kind. Talk moves quickly, however.”

He took a small step back, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, you’re right. Gettin’ a little too used to havin’ you all to myself,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

They shook their head. “I understand. Our…relationship has changed. It is new for us both.”

Elliott raised his eyebrows and beamed. “R-Relationship, huh? I like the sound of that.”

Their smile was evident in their voice. “Yes, Elliott. As do I.” Lifting a hand, they slipped the flower from their helmet and held it between them. “One might liken our relationship to this. It has blossomed into something…beautiful, like a flower in the Spring sun."

He stepped closer, abandoning caution and daring to cradle where their cheek would be. "That is the sappiest, _corniest_ thing I have ever heard." His hazel eyes warmed with his smile. "And I _love_ it."

Bloodhound searched their periphery to ensure they were alone. Reason begged them to step away, to keep their distance and avoid drawing attention to the limited space between their bodies. His kind and earnest gaze kept them near, and without thinking, they reached for his hand. Elliott hummed, his voice low as he watched his fingers fiddle with the charms that dangled from their helmet. "Do you have _any_ idea how hard it’s going to be for me to keep my hands to myself when you’re back in that Ring?”

Bloodhound blushed, grateful for the helmet that hid their reaction to his words. “We do not need to give our brethren a show,” they answered as collectedly as they could muster. “It would not be becoming. Some is best left for privacy.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I guess. Unless, y’know…you’re into that sorta thing,” he teased, laughing when they checked him with a nudge. “I’m kidding, I’m _kidding_ _!_ I get it, Hound. No PDA. I’ll _try_ to behave myself. No promises, though.”

With a short laugh, the hunter shook their head and resumed their walk. The pair continued along the trail, keeping easy conversation that only lulled whenever the hunter’s insuppressible curiosity became piqued by a vivid bed of flowers or the soaring grace of flock. Bloodhound collected a number of items as they proceeded, including the jawbone of a small animal that made Elliott twist his lip with uncertainty. They calmly quelled his unease as they indifferently dusted it off on their jacket and tucked it carefully in their pocket. Elliott smiled as they stepped past, electing to join them in gathering various bits and bobs of nature. He handed them all to Bloodhound, and they accepted the items graciously, wishing more than anything that they could thank him the way their heart wanted to.

“So, uh, the next game’s comin’ up pretty soon,” Elliott said a few moments later, kicking a rock across the path. “Gonna miss seein’ you out there.”

Bloodhound twisted their lip. A flurry of conflicting thoughts rushed them. Their years of battle had not been faced without adversity. They had suffered countless injuries, but by the Allfather’s grace, had persevered. However, any prior incident paled in comparison to their current plight. Their lungs and breathing were compromised, significantly aggravated by the trauma sustained on the field. They could not afford to let their condition worsen, lest they suffer a worse fate.

Their silence made Elliott tip his head. He paused mid-stride, raising an eyebrow. “Hound?”

They blinked themself back into the present, shaking their head. “I am conflicted. I am in no shape to battle, but it does not bring me pride to remain home. My place is beside my _félagi_ fighters.”

Elliott nodded sympathetically. “I know. I get that, Hound. It _sucks_ , but…right now, it’s for the best.” He placed a gentle palm against their back. “Think of it this way – another bad hit out there and you could _…_ i-it’d be ugly. You’re getting better. I’d hate to see you hurt again.”

They relaxed under his touch. “I understand. It would be a great shame.” They turned their face to him. “I will focus on the blessing of healing and give thanks to the Allfather for my recovery. It will be a pleasure to watch you, Elliott. I look forward to observing the match from home.”

He sensed a smile in their voice. “Damn. Now, I’m nervous,” he grinned. “I better get it together before I do somethin’ stupid out there. Which, let’s be honest, kinda happens sometimes.”

“ _Most_ times, _elskan_ ,” they teased. With a laugh, they dodged an elbow to the ribs and hastened down the trail. Elliott pursued them, calling after them with playful teases and baseless threats –

When a figure dashed by.

Bloodhound stilled. With darting eyes, they searched for any remaining threat. Elliott approached them with wary steps and widened eyes, flinching at every sound and shadow “D-Did you see that? Tell me you saw that. Wh-What the hell was that?!”

They said nothing, instead bringing a hand to the blade tucked in the leather sheath at their side. They stepped in front of him, guarding him from the potential of imminent danger. Their body stood stiff, braced for an incoming attack. Behind them, Elliott blinked. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he peered around them, eyeing the glinting blade in their grasp with worry. “Ha-Have you… _always_ carried that with you?”

“ _Rólegur_ , Elliott. Quiet.”

He bit his lip. “I-It’s probably nothin’! We’re seeing things. Maybe somethin’ was in that tea you made,” he let out a shaky, nervous laugh.

Bloodhound clicked their tongue with annoyance and offered him no response. Behind their eyepieces, sharp eyes narrowed and scanned the imprinted ground. The left-behind footprints did not belong to any known beast. There were many of them, close together and shallow in depth, suggesting that whoever – or whatever – had raced by at an impressive speed. As the hunter stepped forward, the sound of fast-approaching footsteps returned. A snarl curled their lip as they straightened with a readied blade, while Elliott shrank behind them and took a fearful grip of their shoulders.

The approaching figure called out, “Is that _you_ , Hound?! _Hola!_ Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?!”

_Octane._

Bloodhound relaxed as the daredevil skidded to a halt in front of them. After a beat of hesitation, Elliott emerged from behind Bloodhound, his terrorized expression lessening to one of shock and confusion. Dressed in a fitted crop top and biker shorts, Octavio pulled his goggles up to his forehead to reveal wild eyes lit up with a smile that matched the one on his face mask. “Elliott? What’re you doin’ back there, _amigo?_ We playin’ hide and seek?”

Elliott cleared his throat and stammered, “N-No…! I-I was, uh…g-givin’ you room to pass.”

Octavio eyed him suspiciously. “With _that_ look on your face?”

He folded his arms as he blushed, avoiding the question. “Shouldn’t you be takin’ it slow on these trails? It’s not a race track, y’know. _Some_ of us don’t want to get run over.”

“Relaaaax! I’ve ran these trails hundreds of times. I could do ‘em in my sleep!”

“Uh huh,” Elliott huffed. “And how many times have you ran into someone? Did you see how close you got to us?!”

“And did _you_ see that look on your face when I did? White. As. A. Ghost!”

Octavio broke out in a body-bending laugh. Elliott pouted, finding no humor in his amusement. Admittedly, it was embarrassing to have been caught cowering like a frightened child behind Bloodhound. As the laughter continued, he set his hands on his hips. “Sure. Laugh it up, Tavi,” he said, unamused. “I’ll get you back. You know what they say about karma.”

The daredevil straightened, catching his breath. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. _Man_ , I needed a good laugh today.” With his laughter subsided, he returned his attention to Bloodhound. “So, Hound! You feelin’ better? Ready to get back into the Ring?”

“In time,” they answered, returning their blade to its sheath. “I am not yet fully healed.”

“Bummer. Guess you can’t rush these kinds of things, huh.”

“Yes. I am healing steadily, but my full recovery will take time.”

Octavio acknowledged with a nod. “Take all the time you need, _compadre_. It’s good to see you out and about. I was surprised to see you!” He turned a questioning eye to Elliott. “Same with you! Where’ve _you_ been _?_ I’ve stopped by your place a _bunch!_ No answer – _every_ time.”

Startled, Elliott started to blurt out a stammered lie. “Oh! I-I, uh…I-I’ve been –”

Octavio held up a hand. “It’s alright, _amigo_. A little birdie already spilled the beans.”

His face darkened. “Wh-Who?”

“You _know_ who,” he answered with an eyebrow wiggle. 

Elliott tried to feign unbothered. “Anita? _Pfft!_ C’mon, Tavi. You know as good as I do that she _loves_ bustin’ my balls. Whatever she said to you, I guarantee it’s a load of – ” 

“So, you’re not sleepin’ over at Hound’s?”

From behind their helmet, Bloodhound reddened. Without anything to hide his face, Elliott’s embarrassment was unmistakable. His eyes flicked between the hunter at his side and the daredevil in front of them, watching as a shit-eating smile glinted in his eyes. Elliott approached him, slipping an arm around his shoulders to pull him aside. Octavio let out a protesting whine as Elliott dragged him behind a tree. “ _Mierda_ , Elliott! What’s with you?!”

He withdrew his arm and faced him. “What’s with _me?!”_ he whisper-yelled. “You said it yourself! _Everyone_ knows I’m sleepin’ over at Hound’s?!”

“What?! No! Not _everyone!”_ Octavio insisted. “I swear, I was the _only_ one around when she said it! _Cálmate_ , Elliott!”

He blew out a sigh as he pushed his fingers through his hair. “Alright, alright. Look, I…I care _a lot_ about Hound. I’m lookin’ after them for a while – until they’re better. I-I don’t want anyone thinkin’ I’ve got ul-ulter-ulterior motives or whatever. I-It’s not like that.”

Octavio assured him with a pat on the back. “No need to convince me. I know you, _compadre_. You’ve got a big heart. Too big for your own good.” He glanced aside to Bloodhound. “Just…try not to catch feelings while you’re at it, huh?”

He made a face. “Little late for that one, Tavi.” He smiled and pointed a finger at him. “But, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“You got it, boss,” Octavio winked.

Elliott turned his head. Bloodhound busied themself while the two of them spoke, flicking their blade into the trunk of a tree. The wood splintered with every precise strike, leaving behind shallow divots in the bark. Octavio noticed Elliott’s lingering eye and gave him a gentle nudge in their direction. “Go. Get back out there, amigo. Better not keep ‘em waiting.”

Elliott caught himself before he stumbled, glancing at him from over his shoulder. “Y-Yeah. Thanks. And thanks for crashin’ our date,” he half-joked with a smile. “I’ll see you around.”

Before Elliott bid him a wave, Octavio resumed his nimble run. Bloodhound had moved to a patch of grass a few feet from the paved path. Sat crisscrossed, they had shed their gloves. Their fingertips moved slowly through the blades of grass within their reach, their head tipping upward when they spotted him approaching. He took a seat at their side. “Hey. Sorry about that, Hound,” he said as he shifted closer. “Didn’t mean to abandon you there.”

Bloodhound forgave him with a shake of their head. “Is everything alright?”

His expression softened as he looked them over, picturing the beauty hidden behind the helmet. He pictured where their eyes would be, intense and enrapturing. He pictured the scars that fanned over their fair skin, marking them with a striking uniqueness only a hunter of their prowess could bare. He pictured the dark hair that framed their face, naturally loose curls intermingled with intricately woven braids.

His heart swelled as he looked at them. A sweet smile warmed his face, and he was certain their lips mirrored his. He briefly looked down to watch his fingers slip through the grass and lace between theirs. He gave a squeeze, peering lovingly at them to murmur, “Never been better.” 


	8. Love and War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back, back, back again for another update! 
> 
> As always, the continued love and support on this story is amazing and there is no way I will be able to say "thank you" enough!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter - comments and kudos welcome. :) <3

A couple of days passed in a blur. Elliott dedicated much of his time to training, taking full advantage of both the compound’s firing range and fitness center. More than once, Bloodhound accompanied him, kindly spotting him through sets of weightlifting, observing him as he feigned battle with training dummies and offering well-intentioned pointers to improve his aim and weapons handling.

Elliott welcomed their company and friendly critique, and tried his hardest not to grow distracted. Their attentive stare was practically tangible on his skin. He could feel their eyes watching him, admiring the flex of his muscles as he moved, the drip of sweat down his tanned skin, the way his chest heaved with every exerted breath. He entertained their staring with a flirtatious wink or an inviting smile, both of which went entirely unnoticed by anyone around them. Each time, Bloodhound felt their face grow warm. Although, whenever the chance arose, they retaliated, giving him playful nudges to his side and making him laugh in a way that was completely infectious.

With every passing hour, as the day of match drew nearer and nearer, Bloodhound found themself faced with a baffling mixture of conflicting emotion. While eager to spectate the battle at home, a part of them wanted no days to pass without ample time with Elliott. They had grown fond of languid mornings where the warmth of his body comforted them until noon, lazy moments where his arms held them until their troubles passed, heated evenings where his hands wandered every inch of their skin.

Their inner turmoil did not go unnoticed. Elliott, as patient and understanding as ever, sympathized and took no offense. He did all he could to lift their spirits, showering them endlessly with affection between his time spent training, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would miss them all the same. 

Among his deeds of affection, redeeming his past attempt at preparing breakfast was one of them. It was of top importance. Bloodhound had kindly pardoned his first and failed attempt. In the very least, they deserved to be rewarded for not losing their composure. On the morning of the match, Elliott tasked himself with fixing a classic breakfast spread – a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and a medley of fresh fruit. This time, nothing burned. Nothing broke. Even Artur let him be, instead watching silently from his perch with the occasional opinionated caw.

Bloodhound eventually roused and shuffled into the kitchen to find Elliott plating their meal. He paused to greet them, his beaming smile almost as bright as the morning sun.

“Mornin’, gorgeous.”

They smiled sweetly in return, taking a seat at the table. “Good morning. How was your rest?”

“Sleep’s always sweet when you’re with me,” he winked, taking both plates in hand as he approached. “How about you?”

A hum and a nod sufficed as their answer. Bloodhound peeled away their mask in time to stifle a yawn. Their eyes followed the plates as they were set on the table, an eyebrow arching inquisitively. “A proper breakfast? Not a single pork chop?” they teased, eyeing him with a sarcastic curl of their lip. “Is that truly _you_ , Elliott?”

He let out a laugh, nearly spilling the contents of the mugs he now held in either hand. Their humor always took him by surprise. It was a little snarky and dry, and almost always accompanied by a small, blink-and-you-might-miss-it smirk. It was _adorable_ , another unexpected facet to the complex hunter that he was delighted to discover. “ _Yes_ , it’s me, Hound! I swear, I’m not a decoy,” he grinned, taking his seat beside them. “It’s about time I treated you to a real breakfast. I _can_ cook more than pork chops.”

Bloodhound softened, setting their hand lightly on top of his. “Thank you, _elskan_.”

He had brewed them a cup of tea to complement their meal. Elliott instead opted for coffee. The caffeine was a welcome jolt, the right amount of boost he needed to later perform at his best. Pre-game jitters were not atypical. The morning of a match was normally soured by nerves, no matter how many times he dove from the dropship and launched into battle. He attributed his nerves to self-inflicted pressure to meet both personal and fan expectation. He wanted to prove to the audience and to himself that he was capable of greatness and worthy to be named a Legend. What was more, Bloodhound would be watching, and the simple fact made him feel as nervous as the day he first stepped into the Ring.

Bloodhound took notice of his unease. Elliott ate quicker than normal, chasing bite after bite with slurps of coffee. They cleared their throat, but when not even that got his attention, they called for him, “Elliott.”

“Hm?” he asked, finally looking up at them. Their displeased expression made his brow furrow. “What’s up? Not a fan of the food? I-I’ll make you somethin’ else if you don’t – ”

“No.” They shook their head. “It isn’t that. You seem…troubled. Is it the match?”

He huffed a short chuckle, a small smile on his face. “Damn. That obvious, huh?”

Bloodhound nodded, looping their fingers through their mug handle. “A worried mind will impede you in battle. Be confident. You always fight strong, with a gift of wit unlike any other.”

A blush tinted his cheeks. “Thanks,” his smile widened as he combed his fingers through his hair. “Awfully sweet of you, Hound. Little known secret? I _always_ get skittish before a game. I’ve got a lot of people to impress. You, the fans, the media…talk about pressure.”

Lowering their mug after a sip, they set a hand against his arm. “My pride in you is unconditional. The audience cannot always be appeased, but the truest fans will always remain loyal,” they assured in a gentle murmur. “Do not worry, Elliott. There is no place for worry in battle.”

“Easier said than done,” he started to grumble, but soon amended his response with a stammered, “I-I mean…you’re right. I’ll try.”

Bloodhound paused, searching the worried etched into his face. They thought briefly of what eased their own unrest. Immediately, they thought of their faith, their devout and undying trust in the Allfather. Their deep-rooted beliefs had taught them never to question the Gods’ divine plan, to always serve their deities with the entirety of their being and to manifest the Allfather’s strength in times of weakness. It struck them, however, that they did not know what brought Elliott solace. “Tell me, _elskan_. In times of worry, what eases your mind?”

The lines in his brow softened. It was apparent that the answer dawned upon him immediately. He took pause, smiling to himself as he became touched by what they imagined was a tender thought or a fond memory. “My mom,” Elliott answered quietly. “She’s…man, she’s my _biggest_ fan. Thinking about her always brings me out of a funk.”

Listening intently, they tipped their head. “Tell me about her.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat before he continued. “I wouldn’t even be a Legend if it wasn’t for her, Hound. I used to tell her about the Games _all_ the time. The lights, the cameras, the _action_. I know she had to be sick of hearin’ about ‘em, but being a Legend was all I wanted.” Elliott took another pause, casting sorrowful eyes aside. “I was ready to scrap that dream when my brothers went missing. No way in Hell could I risk leavin’ her and not comin’ back.”

Their brow creased above sympathetic eyes. The pain in his voice tugged at their heart. They took his hand in theirs, and while they offered no words, Elliott found the warmth of their touch immediately comforting. A sad smile touched his lips and he continued, attempting to focus on the feeling of their hand on his and not the feeling of tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Holo-tech was Mom’s area of expertise. She piqued my interest in it, and one day, she surprised me by giving me the tech I use every time I’m out there in the Ring. She knew how much it meant to me to become a Legend. She said, ‘Elliott, follow your heart and make your mother proud.’ Haven’t slipped up yet.”

Bloodhound caressed the back of his hand with soothing swipes of their thumb. “Is your mother still with us?”

Elliott mustered a nod. “Yeah. Oh, yeah. But, uh…she’s not…doing so well. Dementia.” He took in a breath and released it shakily, shifting in his chair. “She forgets who I am. When I call her, I’m lucky if she even recognizes my voice. In person – forget it. More than half the time, I’m a stranger, and she hardly recognizes me on TV. Tried to explain it to her a few times. Right now, Mirage is just ‘that good-looking guy who clones himself and loves the word bamboozled.” He laughed – sad and hollow. “Either way, she’s a fan. I know she’s a fan. And thinking about her always reminds me of why I belong here.”

They let the following quiet resound, their eyes softening as they noticed the shimmer of tears across the surface of his own. Their fingers weaved between his and rested their joined hands in their lap. Elliott slipped into a daze as he stared into his coffee, reminiscing over the moments and memories he had just shared with the hunter. Tears welled and trickled from his eyes. Startled, he hurried to blink and swipe them away, clearing his throat. “An-Anyway, apologies for the sob story, Hound,” he said in an airy, nervous laugh. “That was a _long_ answer to your question.”

They mirrored his soft smile and excused him with a shake of their head. “Do not apologize. There is no relationship like the one a child shares with its parent. The relationship you have with your mother is special. Treasure it and let it always be your strength.” They squeezed his hand. “Thank you for your story.”

Elliott warmly met their eyes. “Thanks, Hound. Thanks for hearin’ me out.” He brought their hand to his lips and placed a sweet kiss to the back of their palm. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world. What’s there to complain about when I’ve got you and Mom behind me, right?”

Bloodhound lifted their hand to cradle his jaw. “Right. There is little to complain about. Should your heart or mind ever feel troubled, I, like your mother, am here for you. Never forget that, Elliott.”

With a touched smile, he leaned forward to kiss them. He tightened their clasped hands, melting into the kiss with a soft sigh that passed through his nose. Bloodhound let the kiss linger, delicately wiping away smeared tears from his cheek with the pads of their fingers. They could sense ache in the way he held them close, desperate to chase away lingering sorrow with their comforting nearness. He squeezed their hand in a wordless plea for the kiss to continue, for them to stay a moment longer before their morning together had to end. 

Smiling softly against his mouth, Bloodhound tipped their head and invited him to cup their cheek. A low hum rumbled through his chest. He let their lips separate with a gasp and tipped his forehead against theirs, murmuring, “I could stay here all day.”

Bloodhound agreed with a nod, turning their eyes aside to the stovetop clock. “As could I, _elskan_. But, time is not slowing. You should get dressed.”

Reluctantly, Elliott withdrew. He bit back the protest he could feel rising in his throat, instead conceding that it would be wise for him to get ready for the match. He didn’t want them to be troubled with clean-up, but before he could say anything, Bloodhound collected the plates and stepped away to the sink. Elliott relaxed in his seat, watching with adoring eyes and a loving smile as the hunter busied themself with the dishes. It astonished him, how someone could look so beautiful even when occupied with the most menial task. The morning sun spilled in through the window above the sink and painted them in a warm, gentle glow that took his breath away.

Downing the last of his coffee in a swift gulp, he stood and made his way over to them. He stood behind them, slowly and sweetly drawing his arms around their middle. Bloodhound did not flinch or pause, instead turning their face to him. His lips found their cheek and he held them tighter, cherishing the feeling of their body in his arms, the way they arched into his touch, the way their cheeks lifted in a smile under his kiss. As eager as he was to battle, he was even more eager to return home, to this feeling, to Bloodhound.

\- - -

The match would not start for another couple of hours, but Bloodhound had already cozied up on the couch. Once breakfast had concluded and the dishes had been washed, they showered – alone. A part of them _terribly_ wanted company, but a moment of clarity forced them to regain their senses. Solitude and reflection were crucial before battle. Every fighter needed to clear their mind and prepare their body for the fight ahead, without distraction.

Respectfully, Bloodhound kept to themself, only interrupting Elliott once for assistance in re-dressing their wound. He had been more than willing to oblige, his tender touch instantly dulling the ache in their shoulder. Despite their urging for him to return to his morning routine, Elliott insisted on helping them settle on the couch. He fetched a blanket, brewed tea, snagged them a book and grabbed them their respirator before he even considered stepping away, his selfless attentiveness bringing a flutter to their heart.

Curled up on the couch, they waited for Elliott to return. They paused reading to take a careful sip of their tea, humming at the warmth that spread through them. Artur sat beside them, huddled on top of the couch arm with his wings folded and his legs curled beneath him. The television ran quietly in the background, broadcasting pre-game montages of past Legend performances and in-arena action clips. Broadcasters spoke over images of the hunter downed in battle, their moments of distress caught in painful, minute-by-minute detail. Their lip twisted into a frown, negative emotion making their stomach twist. A phantom pain struck their lungs, hitching their breath and forcing a cough from their throat. They turned their face and closed their eyes, gripping the side of their ribcage as they strained for air. They reached for the remote and muted the television to quiet the shameless, grating commentary.

Finally mustering a full breath, Bloodhound pressed back into the couch. Artur took notice of their discomfort. He stood with a caw and hopped onto their uninjured shoulder, gently nudging his beak against the underside of their jaw. Catching their breath, Bloodhound whispered in their native tongue, tenderly shushing his consistent caws. Obediently, the raven ceased. They returned their attention to the television, feeling their tension dissipate when the footage cut to Elliott. They re-lived the moment he found them in Swamps, the moment he scooped them into his arms and held them tight until the dropship arrived. Even through the screen, his compassion was clear. He was a godsend to them then and now, in ways they couldn’t have ever predicted. 

The dull thud of bootsteps turned their head toward the bedroom. Elliott emerged, dressed in his classic black and yellow get-up. He paused in front of a mirror, taking a moment to adjust one of the many holo-disks strapped to his arms. He then, of course, fidgeted with his already overly-preened, yet deceptively effortless curls, stepping away from the mirror only after he flashed himself a smile. With a confident strut, he approached Bloodhound. “I better head out, gorgeous. Time’s a tickin’ and I’ve got a game to win,” he told them, leaning down to press a kiss to their forehead. “What can I get you before I leave? Somethin’ to snack on? A fresh cup of tea? A decoy so you don’t get lonely?” He winked.

Bloodhound shook their head with an amused smile, fussing with the scarf around his neck. “Nothing at all, Elliott. I am fine. Fight strong and return home in good health,” they answered. “I will be waiting for you.”

With a softening smile, he bid them “see you later,” but only after he peppered their face with kisses. Bloodhound let out a light laugh as their forehead, cheeks and temples were ravaged by his pecking lips. They were sure to bid him goodbye with a kiss on the lips, waving after him as he stepped away and left their home. The click of the locking door made the smile on their face drop. They would miss him dearly, and they had to admit that they already did. His departure instantly made their home feel emptier, the returning noise of the television replacing the sound of his voice and laughter they had grown fond of. Looking away from the closed door, they dismissed their thoughts with a sigh and assured themself that he would soon return.

They focused on their excitement to watch him shine in the arena. Keeping the television low, they passed the next couple of hours by engrossing themself in their book. Shortly before game time, they shuffled into the kitchen for a fresh cup of tea and returned in time to see the coverage begin. Sitting crisscrossed on the couch, they tucked the blanket around their legs and reached for the remote to increase the volume. Artur moved to settle between their folded legs, finding their soft blanket and warm lap quite comfortable. Bloodhound smiled and brushed their fingers along his nape feathers. “The battle begins,” they murmured. “May the Gods give Elliott strength and courage.”

\- - -

Elliott found himself paired up with Pathfinder and Lifeline. He had fought alongside both of them a number of times before. Pathfinder – a long-time friend who he loved to affectionately give a hard time – was always a loyal, solid squadmate. Lifeline was strong and selfless, served with a side of sass. The three of them worked well together whenever they were in the Ring, defeating enemies with a kind of synergy any team would rival.

The pre-game footage showed the Legends entering the dropship. Bloodhound felt a flutter in their heart whenever the camera captured Elliott. He had effortless magnetism – the way he walked, talked and schmoozed with his fellow Legends was undeniably eye-catching. Bloodhound smiled whenever they saw him smile, without thinking. They felt their face grow as warm as their tea when he winked and blew a kiss at the camera – a kiss meant for them, they were certain.

Watching Elliott ready-up in the dropship made butterflies dance in their stomach. He looked strong and capable, prepared to persevere through the grit, blood and sweat he would inevitably face in the Canyon below. Sat in his area of the dropship, he finished re-lacing his boots and sprucing his hair. He shot himself a pair of finger guns and made his way toward the end of the launch deck, flashing a dazzling smile to everyone he passed. Elliott took his spot between Pathfinder and Lifeline, giving them each a fist bump for good luck before he slapped on his goggles and descended with them into King’s Canyon. He, of course, dove with style, riding the back of his decoy like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Their intended drop-point was the Hot Zone – Containment. It was a daring dive, given the number of hostiles descending to the same location in a swarm around them. Anxious and eager, Bloodhound sat straighter braced themself. It was set to be an exciting match from the start.

As predicted, action commenced the second their boots touched the ground. To their benefit, their risky hot-drop reaped high reward. Elliott and his team managed to snag loot immediately. He swiped an R-301 and a low-level body shield – nothing exceptional, but enough for him to gain an upper hand on nearing foe equipped with less. Elliott, with his team, opened fire. Their bullets made contact with the enemy and he strafed to evade opposing gunfire. One by one, hostiles dropped, unable to combat skillful shots from Lifeline, clever grapples from Pathfinder or bamboozling decoys from Elliott. The trio emerged from the fight victorious, with little remaining ammunition, but plenty of bounty lying at their disposal within the enemy death boxes scattered around them.

At home, Bloodhound beamed. Elliott was a pleasure to watch. Experiencing his gift of trickery from their couch was as exciting as it was in battle. He duped and downed his enemies with incredible ease. They had praised his abilities in the past, calling his holo-tech a “blessing to the hunt.” Elliott had accepted the compliment with a wink and a proposition for dinner that had made them nearly forget how to breathe.

Recalling the memory fondly, they smiled and returned their focus to the television. Footage returned to Elliott, who ensured his team was adequately stocked with loot before they even considered moving on. Willingly, he offered whatever he could – healing items, attachments, ammunition. He did handed it over with zero hesitation, only a beautiful smile that complemented his genuine heart. There was, in fact, a glimmer of Elliott behind the persona of Mirage. Mirage was not always an overconfident, self-absorbed chatterbox. He could be selfless and kind like Elliott, like the man Bloodhound had begun to further know and understand.

The match proceeded with unwavering momentum. The trio opted to pass through Bunker, a decision that nearly proved to be detrimental. The loot had already been nabbed, but Elliott took a minute to glance around in case a high-value item or two had been left behind. His squadmates, however, started to carry on, keen on not wasting any time.

He finally conceded, finding that every room was, in fact, thoroughly picked clean. Turning to leave one of the Bunker’s many rooms, he froze upon finding no one other than Caustic standing at the threshold. Elliott rushed to shut the door, but the scientist acted with surprising swiftness and planted a trap in the doorway. The trap was activated with a single shot, its fatal fumes seeping through the ajar door and permeating the space around him.

With staggered footsteps, Elliott scrambled for refuge in the corner. It was futile. The noxious gas enveloped him and _burned_. Turning his face with a hiss, he clawed at the scarf around his neck and pulled it over his mouth and nose, desperate for a shred of relief. Bloodhound grimaced. Dread seized their heart tighter and tighter with every choked cough and gasp that escaped him. Caustic shouldered the door open and approached the trickster with a haunting gleam in his eye, his weapon brandished between them. His voice rumbled a menacing growl of promised death, his towering silhouette casting a shadow over the cowering trickster. 

As luck would have it, Elliott’s squad was swift to his aid. Pathfinder and Lifeline rushed to his position and opened fire through the doorway, swiftly eliminating the lone scientist. Relieved, Bloodhound exhaled. They watched with a worried frown as Elliott shakily returned to his feet, visibly shaken by his brush with death. While seeing the wear of battle on him wasn’t unfamiliar, it wasn’t easy – especially now, when their feelings for him had deepened. They wished they could have been the one to save him. They wished they could be there with him, fretting over him until they were certain he was well.

To their relief, Lifeline deployed her health drone beside Elliott and offered him a shield battery. He thanked her with a quavery smile, regaining a hold of his senses as the adverse effects of the noxious gas gradually wore off. With the trickster healed up, the trio headed toward Market. Gunfire erupted throughout its corridors upon their immediate arrival. They took to the rooftop, crouching behind cover while they awaited for unsuspecting foe. The battle within the Market ultimately ceased. A squad soon rode the zipline to the rooftop, unaware of the imminent danger lying ahead. Elliott and his team emerged from cover and opened fire. The fight was swift and favorable, resulting in the startled enemy’s defeat and minimal damage received.

There were a couple of minutes remaining before Ring closure. The trio scavenged the corridors of Market and the surrounding buildings for better gear. Elliott was equipped to the nines, sporting a high-level body shield, as well as a fully-kitted R-301 and Longbow. Lifeline sported a hopped-up Prowler and a Mastiff, while Pathfinder stuck with a Wingman and a Triple Take. Close by, gunfire echoed and crescendoed, growing nearer to their position. Keen on claiming a tactical position, Pathfinder set a zipline for the Market rooftop. Elliott and Lifeline followed, searching the area for any sign of opposition while Pathfinder accessed the nearby Survey Beacon. The team consulted their maps to find their location already within the next Ring. With the high ground claimed, they waited with weapons primed and poised.

Bloodhound shifted with a deep breath, anticipating the match’s nearing finale. They finished their tea and set the mug on the coffee table, glancing down to the raven still settled in their lap. “The end draws near,” they said softly, moving gentle fingers over his feathers. “Victory is within reach for our dear _félagar_.”

Two other squads remained.

Lifeline called in a Care Package, both to benefit her team and alert the remaining enemy of their position. They _wanted_ a fight, confident in their ability to win. While the Care Package made its descent, the three of them sought cover. Elliott sent out a decoy the moment it landed, setting it to crouch in front of the Care Package and feign looting. The tactic proved successful after a patient moment. A squad scaled the rooftop and opened fire at the decoy, who they were convinced was an unsuspecting Mirage. To their dismay, their bullets did not penetrate. The decoy shimmered and disappeared. Bamboozled, the enemy spun in search for the actual Mirage. They spotted him, along with his team. Disoriented and panicked, they fired, managing to weaken the trio’s shields. Returning fire, the enemy fell after a back-and-forth gunfight, awarding Elliott, Pathfinder and Lifeline with another squad-wipe.

One other squad remained.

The three of them had just enough time to shield up before the final squad appeared – Revenant, Loba and Wraith. Revenant advanced first, with Loba and Wraith at his flank. With a guttural yell, he bounded toward Elliott, opening fire while he tossed his silencer to disable his abilities. Elliott managed to deploy a number of decoys before the silencer struck him. The maneuver confused the angered Simulacrum, giving Elliott a moment to dart behind cover and replenish the health he had lost. Revenant shot and swiped at the surrounding clones, letting ravaged cries tear from his robotic throat. Caught in a blind rage, he failed to see Elliott slip to his flank. Boldly, Elliott fired, intent on emptying his entire magazine into his back. Revenant stopped and tensed, pivoting with an inhuman swiftness to take Elliott’s throat in his hand and squeeze.

Elliott dropped his weapon. Strangled, he gasped for air, clawing at the metallic fingers curled like a vice around his neck. His feet kicked against air as Revenant lifted and slammed him into the ground, expelling the breath from his lungs. Elliott took in a strained inhale as he writhed, instinct compelling him to squirm away. Revenant returned with his knee buried in his chest, his hand once again wrapped around his throat. His face furrowed with pain, his hazel eyes rounded with desperation. His vision started to blacken and blur, his breathing compromised. Revenant paid no mind to his small, helpless pleas. His fear fueled his bloodlust, and Elliott knew he would not let go until he perished in his hand.

Bloodhound wrung their hands together. They spoke aloud to whichever Gods would listen, pleading for Elliott to be spared. Both Pathfinder and Lifeline had become occupied with Loba and Wraith, exchanging gunfire with their relentless opponents. Eventually, the sounds of a struggle behind them caught their attention. Pathfinder spun and immediately took aim. A skillful sniper shot sent Revenant to the ground. He scrambled aside, hiding his pain with a glowing glare and guttural growl. Pathfinder offered Elliott a hand, to which he accepted with a shaky “thank you.” Catching his breath, the trickster turned and addressed Revenant, flashing him a cheeky grin through his pain and finishing him with a bullet between the eyes. 

Bloodhound breathed a thankful sigh. Meanwhile, Loba and Wraith closed in on Lifeline, channeling their own hunger for the win in a barrage of gunfire. Lifeline buckled, her shields flickering and cracking under the damage inflicted. Pathfinder threw his grapple to fling himself into combat. He stepped in front of Lifeline, blocking and returning gunfire with deft shots from his pistol. Elliott assisted, deploying a decoy while he advanced and opened fire. The clone charged in alongside him, perplexing his opponents, who ultimately succumbed to his trickery and fell at their feet.

Victory.

Bloodhound clasped their hands together, mirroring the bright smile that lit up Elliott’s face. His team celebrated with high-fives and slaps on the back, acknowledging the circling cameras with a wave. The hunter was proud. He had fought formidably and it showed. Dust and dirt stuck to the sweat on his face. Red marks remained where Revenant had wrapped his claws around his throat. His suit was weathered and worn, spattered with grime and blood from the battles they had endured. He had new scars to bear with the old, and not to mention another victory to add to his track record. The win had been rightfully earned.

The post-game interview saw Elliott catering to a crowd of story-hungry journalists. He answered the usual, run-of-the-mill questions that every Legend dreaded – questions about high and low points of the match, about how the victory must have felt, about his least favorite and most favorite points of the game. He answered more personal questions as well, which almost _always_ pertained to his love life. Fans died to know whether or not there was a special someone in his life. He danced around the question with a distracting, megawatt smile and a clever joke, though this time, someone in the crowd persisted.

Unexpectedly, they mentioned Bloodhound. The journalist questioned their closeness, recalling the way Elliott had held the anguished hunter in his arms during the infamous incident in the Swamps. They wondered if their relationship had surpassed platonic since then, and if there was something going on between them behind the scenes that he might be willing to share with everyone.

Elliott bowed his head with an almost telling smile. Their relationship was certainly budding into something beautiful. It had not gone unnoticed by a handful of their fellow Legends – here-and-there comment from a select few had confirmed that to both of them. Still, disclosing the extent of their closeness to the public didn’t sit right with him. What he had with Bloodhound was _special_. He was smitten with them and cherished them. If he divulged, the media would undoubtedly twist his words into something they could sensationalize and dilute his relationship with Bloodhound into nothing but a fling.

Again, the journalist called his name. Elliott blinked and looked up, quickly donning another smile. He wasn’t the type to outright shut a question down. He answered the way he would any question, with some lighthearted teasing and plenty of charm.

“I plead the fifth,” he joked, eliciting a rumble of laughter from the crowd. “I kid, I kid. But, honestly? Let me start with this. Hound’s doing _a lot_ better. Like, night and day. Not 100% yet, sad to say, but…well, hey, they could still kick my ass.” He paused to let more laughter resound. “Anyway, you want the truth. Truth is, I care about Hound. And truth is, that day brought us closer. How much closer? Well…” With a glance straight into the camera, he gave a wink and a grin that sent a flutter through Bloodhound’s heart. “A Legend never kisses and tells.”


	9. From Lust to Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! Returning to you with another update. I did not mean to take so much time between this update and the last. I apologize. Working full time + managing schoolwork has left me less time to write during the week than I would like. 
> 
> As always, the love and support on this story is incredible. :) Thank you all so, so, so much. 
> 
> Please enjoy the update, leave a kudos and drop a comment. <3
> 
> This chapter is NSFW - smut, smut, smut (and fluff).

Bloodhound eagerly awaited Elliott’s return. Their anticipation refused to let them sit still, and so they tasked themself with tidying their home. The couch pillows were fluffed and the blankets were folded. The tables and shelves were dusted. The floors were swept and the carpets were straightened. The countertops were wiped and the kitchen was cleaned. From top to bottom, they tidied up.

They had a feeling Elliott would chide them for housekeeping instead of resting, but they refused to let him return to anything but a clean home. He deserved it after fighting valiantly, surviving grueling firefights and far-too-close brushes with death. Bloodhound could hardly wait to see him, to hold him and pepper him with kisses until their lips grew numb.

Time could not move fast enough.

A hearty stew sat simmering on the stove top, a nourishing mixture of chunks of wild game, cubed vegetables and a blend of aromatic herbs. It was a wholesome, hit-the-spot dinner prepared by the hunter themself. They lifted the lid of the pot, meeting the aroma with a pleasant hum while they stirred the contents with a spoon. The stew was bound to replenish and refuel Elliott. They could already picture the smile he would wear, thanking them time and time again between hefty spoonfuls.

Replacing the lid, they moved to the kitchen table and sat, watching the arms of the clock with pained patience. Every bump and shuffle in the hallway made them look toward the door. Their fellow brethren were returning to their homes, ready to shed their gear and unwind after a taxing day of battle. At any moment, Elliott would be doing the same. He would knock on the door and greet them with the smile they had dearly missed from the moment he had bid them goodbye.

Much to their excitement, their patience was soon rewarded. Familiar bootsteps approached and halted outside. Elliott knocked and called their name, prompting them to slip from their seat and hurriedly answer the door. They pulled it open, and with a gentle smile, they greeted him. He mirrored their expression as he stepped into their home, letting the door fall shut behind him. Shrugging off his bags, he took their face in his hands and thumbed over their cheeks. For moments, not a word escaped him. He didn’t need to speak so soon, as the look in his eye said everything. “I missed you, Hound.”

Their smile widened. “As did I,” they answered in a murmur, slowly drawing their arms around his neck. “At last, you return.”

Elliott leaned into them, the feeling of his body pressed to theirs tinting the fair skin beneath their scars. Their eyes fell to his nearing mouth, parted and passing warm breath over their own. Their eyelids fell before his lips even met theirs. Typically, Elliott was a tender, passionate kisser who relished every moment their mouths moved against one another. He loved the gradual build-up, until their mutual hunger for each other peaked and neither one of them could find a full breath.

This time, there was no build-up. The fervor was immediate. Their lips met with a clash of teeth and a gasp of air. Elliott backed them against the wall, losing his fingers in their hair. Bloodhound shuddered beneath him, impatient hands tugging at the suit that kept his body from their touch. A smile pulled at his mouth. He continued to kiss them as he worked himself out of his gear, lust-trembling hands eagerly unfastening every strap, buckle and zipper.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said in a husky chuckle, peeling out of his suit. The material clung to the sheen of sweat on his skin, making him grunt with effort. “You really _did_ miss me.”

Bloodhound broke the kiss to give him a look and assist him. “Have I ever been one to lie?” they teased, watching as he stepped one foot at a time out of his suit. They straightened, kicking the shed gear aside. “While I am fond of time alone, I have grown used to having you here.”

“Well, if that isn’t the sweetest thing,” he told them, combing his fingers through their hair. “Thanks, Hound. Sure is good to be back.” The click of the stove burner caught his attention. He turned his attention toward the kitchen, raising his eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the appetizing waft of steam emanating from the soup pot. “You whippin’ up somethin’? Smells _great_.”

They smiled at his expression, their eyes never averting as they nodded. “Yes. A stew, rich with hunted meat and fresh vegetables. A strong fighter needs a filling meal to restore his strength and energy.”

Elliott met their gaze, clicking his tongue with a smile. “You didn’t have to go through the trouble, gorgeous. Hell, it looks like you went through enough trouble tidying the place up.” He paused, making a face at them. “Aren’t you supposed to be takin’ it easy?”

Bloodhound sighed through their nose. “I did not overwork myself,” they assured him. “A clean home and nourishing meal are of value to me. I wanted nothing more than to take care of you, Elliott, as you have taken care of me.”

He softened, taking their hands in either of his own. “If I could come home to you _every_ day, I’d be the happiest guy on this side of the universe.” Leaning forward, he met their lips in a tender kiss. “Pinch me. I must be dreaming.”

A quiet laugh escaped them. “I will not. You have endured enough pain today. It troubled me to watch you suffer at the hands of the _andskoti_.” Gingerly, they tipped his chin and examined the marks left behind on his neck by Revenant’s claws. They clicked their tongue and twisted their lip, touching lightly over his skin. When Elliott hissed in pain, they withdrew their fingers. Concern settled in their eyes. “You are in pain.”

He tried to mask his discomfort with a shake of his head. “Nah, it’s nothin’, Hound. I’ve had worse. Don’t worry about it.”

Bloodhound dismissed his nonchalance. “ _Nei_. It must be treated.” They lowered their hand and turned on their heel. “Come. I have an ointment to soothe your wounds.”

His stammering protests stopped short when the hunter took him by the hand, leading him intently toward the bedroom. Having haphazardly started to undress, he found himself barely clothed at the edge of the bed. “You know, I would _much_ rather get back to doing, y’know, what we were doing,” he mumbled, watching with a pout as Bloodhound briefly stepped away. “Are you sure you want me to sit here? I’m not exactly squeaky clean. Wouldn’t wanna ruin your bed – your sheets look a _lot_ more expensive than mine.”

“Sheets can be washed,” they told him as they emerged from the bathroom, a washcloth and tube of ointment in hand. “Pay it no mind. Health comes before minor inconvenience.”

Touched, he smiled. “Keep doting on me like that, Hound, and I might get hurt more often,” he teased with a wink. “Kidding. Totally kidding. Anyway, it’s not the first time Mister Murder Bot has tried to kill me. He’s tried _at least_ a hundred times, in and out of the Ring.”

Lowering beside him, Bloodhound squeezed a dollop of ointment onto the tip of their finger and hummed in acknowledgement. “His temper is quick, and his strike is quicker,” they answered, tilting his head back to wipe his skin clean. “I am merely grateful that your brethren were swift to your aid. Bless the Allfather.”

Elliott felt his smile widen. “Amen to that.” He kept still as Bloodhound applied the ointment. It brought immediate relief to the stinging pain of his wounds. He tried to turn his eyes down at them. “Hey, whatever that is, it’s workin’. Feels better already.”

They smiled, their eyes focused. “It is a homemade cream, based in seed oil and mixed with essential oils for relief and fragrance. It will coat the skin, ease your pain and leave behind a pleasant aroma.” Finished, they wiped their hand on the washcloth and met his eyes. “Better, _elskan_?”

“Oh, yeah. Much better.” As he lifted his hand to the side of their face, his beaming smile softened. “Now…where were we?”

The way they smiled at him said it all. They tipped their head into his touch and leaned nearer to him, exhaling when his lips melted into theirs and the tips of their tongues found each other. Bloodhound shuddered. His name became lost in a moan and they reached out for him, eager hands clawing and scaling the solid surface of his chest. Elliott echoed them, hungry lips fluttering over the ridge of their cheekbone, the slope of their jaw and the hollow of their throat. Every moment of his lips on their skin pulled them deeper and deeper into surrender. They wanted him. They _needed_ him. But, before anything, they wanted to please him.

With little warning, they withdrew.. Meeting the confusion in his hazel stare, they took his chin between their fingers and swiped away the saliva that had dribbled onto his chin. “Let me first take care of you, Elliott,” they murmured, their voice clear with intent. “Every Legend must…unwind after battle.”

His face warmed. His eyebrows raised. “I-I, uh…y-you want to, uh…i-is that a, uh, an in-innu-innuendo or s-somethin’?”

The glint in their eye was a cunning as the smile on their lips. They eased him onto his back, relishing the sight of him splayed beneath them. Their mere proposition had been enough to tent his underwear. He was undeniably aroused at the thought of their willingness to please him. Instinctively, his legs parted as they slipped nearer, beckoning them to settle in between. Bloodhound obliged with a slow lap of their lips, their skilled touch following the grooves of his muscled abdomen. “Not an innuendo, but a promise. Your victory must be properly rewarded.”

Elliott bit down on his lip to stifle a moan, the purr of their words sending a shiver through his spine. Keen on capturing every moment, he lifted himself up on his elbows. He sucked in a breath as their fingertips danced atop his skin, tracing the waistband of his underwear with a light-as-a-feather touch. With a hum, they leaned forward and let their lips follow the trail of hair that descended down his abdomen. He arched with every kiss, his panting short and shallow, and when their warm tongue flicked against his hot skin, he craned his head back with a gasp. Need was wound tight in his core. His chest heaved through hitched breaths, his already-aching cock pulsing with the quickening beat of his heart. “Hound,” he begged in a groan. “F-Fuck. Come _on_ , babe.”

They lifted their eyes, their stare intense as they drank every pleasured grimace. “It is not polite to beg without saying ‘please,’” they answered with an air of teasing. “Let us not forget our manners.”

His lips parted, prepared to amend his plea, when their hand kneaded the mound of his erection and effectively killed his words in his throat. Unthinkingly, he lifted his hips, biting out a curse as their fingers hooked over his waistband. They pulled it downward, springing his erection from its constricting confines.

Elliott was swift to writhe and wriggle out of them. Bloodhound tossed them aside without tearing their eyes away from his enticing arousal, their lips hovered torturously close to his drooling tip. Their mouth opened to let their tongue loll and lap at beads of his pre-cum, the taste of his essence eliciting a waft of warm breath against his length. Elliott let out a strangled groan, a hand grasping for the bedsheets while the other buried itself in their hair. “A-Ah, fuck… _pl-please_.”

Bloodhound responded with a moan, wrapping their hand around him while the wet surface of their tongue scaled the underside of his length. Their lips soon enveloped him, their dark hair falling over their unwavering gaze as they swallowed. Elliott broke eye contact with a toss of his head, his hips trembling as he eased himself further down their throat.

The noises they made rattled him. They made his already-trembling body vibrate and tingle, working his hyper-stimulated nerves. The suctioning and swirling of their mouth and tongue pulled moan after moan out of him. Captive to the wet heat that engulfed him, he tugged at their hair, listening as the hunter groaned in response and quickened the hungry bobs of their head. Their fist kept up with them, pumping the bit of his length that they could not swallow. His breaths grew airier. His body grew shakier. His climax neared, and while he longed for it, he would not dare let it happen so soon.

It took everything for him to stop them. “H-Hey, hey,” he panted, his fingers slipping from their hair to their hollowed cheek. “N-Not…not yet. Not yet, Hound.”

Bloodhound withdrew without question, leaving his length glistening with their saliva. Interest flickered across their face as Elliott sat upright and shifted aside, gesturing for them to lie in his place. They obliged, lying flat on their back with keen eyes focused on the man hovering above them with a crooked smile. “Now, let me take care of you.”

He cupped the side of their face, keeping their faces near before he resumed the kiss. The intensity was immediate. Lips and teeth crashed together while their tongues twisted and tangled. Bloodhound failed to suppress a whine. They arched beneath him, seizing a fistful of his curls with an unexpected force that made Elliott smile against them. He angled his head, deepening the kiss with a maddening glide of his tongue. A gasp shuddered from their throat. Overwhelmed, they reached out for him and embedded their nails into his side, panting, “Elli-Elliott…!”

His fingers fluttered over the hem of their shirt, tugging with impatient need. His intent was clear, and Bloodhound broke the kiss to let him pull their top over their head. Their exposed skin bristled with longing, peppering with goosebumps as his fingers started at the waistband of their bottoms. They braced themself on the bed and wriggled their lower half free from their pants and underwear, leaving their body naked beneath him.

Elliott pulled back. He admired them, taking his time as if it were for the very first time. They were, as always, so beautiful – sharp, proud features, strength evident in their toned skin, beauty etched across their body in intricate, breathtaking tattoos. Striking eyes watched him from behind dark, wispy strays, and he swept back their tousled strands with a gentle hand before he leaned in to kiss them again.

His lips scaled their jaw, the side of their neck, the ridge of their collarbone, languishing over the thudding center of their chest. The sounds they made were quiet and breathless, trembling from their mouth when he captured their nipple between the teasing points of his teeth. Bloodhound held him as they shuddered, their face wincing with pleasure as his fingers squeezed and rolled their other nipple. His touch was skilled and confident, loving and respectful. They wanted more – more of him, more of _this_.

Their own arousal had swelled to the point of ache. No longer could they spare a moment without his hand around them. Pleading between breaths, they took his hand and guided it to their cock. He palmed them, smearing the pre-cum drooling from their tip and stroking their slickened skin with ease. Their body arched with a spasm of pleasure, their parted lips beckoning him to kiss them. He claimed their mouth – hard, hot and heavy. Fingers snatched and twisted in his curls while his bottom lip became trapped between sharp teeth. His mouth opened in a gasp, inviting their tongue to snake over the crescent-shaped grooves indented on his lip. Groaning a swear, Elliott grinded against them, unable to suppress the desire building up inside of him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he nearly whined, his voice shaky. “I need you so bad.”

Their response first drowned in a moan, his warm, firm touch worsening the fire already burning within them. “Yes,” they managed. “Yes, Elliott. I…I need you.”

Elliott slowed his hand, withdrawing from the kiss to pant heavily against their neck. “How bad, baby? Hm? Tell me. How bad do you want me?”

“ _Terribly_ , _elskan_ ,” they breathed by his ear. “More than I can say.”

Their answer alone made the tint on his cheeks deepen. He lifted, meeting the demand in their eyes, a demand he intended to serve. He cradled the side of their face, his hazel eyes heavy with something between love and lust. He watched as they turned their head to wrap full, pillowy lips around the tips of his fingers. His breath hitched. Their tongue rubbed and circled him, weaving between his digits in a deliberate effort to lather them in saliva. He stared, transfixed, spellbound. Drawn out sounds of pleasure echoed in their throat and rumbled through his tantalized nerves. Ribbons of spit dangled between their mouth and his hand when they withdrew. The lewd sight was captivating, making him bite down on his lip and groan.

“H-Hound…”

His hand descended, sliding down their stomach and over their groin until his slickened fingers found their entrance. He was gentle and patient as he prepared them, pressing the pad of a finger against their puckered hole. Bloodhound begged him with their eyes to continue, their head arched back against the bed. Elliott obliged, daring to venture further into the warmth of their slowly yielding walls. A curse escaped them in a gasp, their brow furrowing when a second finger joined the first. Their body squirmed, attempting to sink itself onto him. Their hips tilted toward his touch, shaking as he parted his fingers and stretched them.

“A-Ah, Elliott…!”

There was a beauty to their unraveling. He never ceased to find their spiral into ecstasy anything but beautiful. He loved the way their face scrunched, the way their lips parted, the way their body arched and quaked. It drove him to give them more. A third finger pulled a whine from their throat. Their muscles spasmed around him, adjusting to the fullness of his fingers inside of them. Their lips locked as he started to move his hand, spearing them, fucking them with a precision that made their body tremble. His other hand wrapped around their aching cock, pumping them in time with the thrusts of his fingers. Bloodhound broke the kiss to breathe. They chased the sensation, thrusting into him with all of the strength their trembling body could muster. “Yes…yes, _elskan_ … _yes_.”

The unyielding, metronomic pace of his fingers and fist racked their body with pleasure. The sight and sound of their intense arousal worsened his ache. He longed to give them everything. He wanted to give them _all_ of him. He wanted their bodies to melt into one. He wanted to feel himself inside of them, their wanting, clenching walls drawing him deeper and deeper into their depths.

Driven wild by his thoughts, he kissed them harder. The kiss was sloppy and needy, conveying the heedless intensity of his hunger. Elliott echoed the moans that managed to slip past their swollen lips, not once letting the thrusts of his fingers of the pumps of his fist falter. “Do you want it, gorgeous? Hm?” he rumbled against their mouth, his breaths coming in short, heavy pants. “Want me to give it to you?”

His words were like fire on their skin. Their anticipation swelled at the thought of him inside of them, filling a part of them that they never wanted to belong to anyone else. There was no question. There was no fear. Opening their heart and body to him felt right, more right than anything else.

They answered him, nodding their head as they fought for air. “Makes me yours, _ástin mín_. Make me yours, and yours alone.”

He sealed their words with a kiss. He took their face in his hands, fanning his fingers over their cheeks as their lips melted against each other. Bloodhound moaned his name, watching with lust-laden eyes as he withdrew and straightened above then. Elliott spit into his hand and palmed his erection, stroking himself with a mixture of his own saliva and pre-cum. Bloodhound admired the quick rise and fall of his chest, the flex of muscle throughout his frame, the glisten of sweat against his tanned skin. Soon, he would take them. Soon, they would be one.

The feeling of his length against their entrance broke their trance. They gasped, parting their legs to give him ample room. Elliott rested his hand against the slope of their side as he aligned himself. Bending at the waist, he took them in another tender kiss and moaned against their lips as he pushed into them, into their yielding walls and the warmth of their body. The feeling sent them soaring. Their breath hitched, a long, choked moan shuddering from their throat. Inch by inch, he entered them, and they craned their head back with a cry when he reached his hilt.

“Ell-Elliott!”

He groaned, knitting his brow as their muscles clenched and kept him buried within their tight heat. They felt _incredible_ around him, beyond anything he could have imagined. He was tender and careful with them, draping one leg over his shoulder and hooking the other over his hip. When he moved, he was slow and steady, with deep, languid thrusts to pace them and relish the slick, ribbed walls of their entrance. Bloodhound arched, meeting his eyes with their own lit with ecstasy. Though he kept his movements measured, he managed to meet their sweet spot every time, fucking their aching heat with a smooth, gliding precision. His name continued to leave their lips in a breathless chant, again and again. “Elliott…Elliott…!”

He pressed his forehead to theirs, sharing their panting breaths. “H-Hound… _fuck_ , you feel amazing.”

He fell forward and caged his arms around them, the warmth radiating from his skin enveloping them. Their legs wrapped around his middle, the squeeze of their thighs keeping him in place like the muscles of their heat. Their lips found his again, the fervor of the kiss fierce and immediate. Elliott buried his fingers in their hair as he quickened his pace, driving into them harder and faster. Bloodhound held onto him. Every thrust sent pleasure rippling through them. Every thrust sent him deeper and deeper, stretching them, spearing them, filling them.

Lip-locked and tongue-tangled, they cried out as he fucked them. Elliott savored the sounds that escaped them, as beautiful to him as the lilt of their voice. He echoed them, answering each sound with loving words and panted praises. As their pleas slurred into demands for more, he extended a hand for the headboard and braced himself against it, driving his hips forward with an even greater speed, but just as careful force that rocked their body every time.

Bloodhound shook. His hand found their hip and gripped their skin, steadying them as they arched and craned. Their legs trembled and unwound from his waist, parting to let him fuck them uninhibited. Skin hit against skin. Sweat dripped from their bodies and their moans mixed with his groans. The noises reverberated, echoing off of the bedroom walls in a lewd cacophony. He bottomed out with every snap of his hips, spearing their prostate again and again. He was unfaltering. It was torturous. They pressed their cheek into the mattress and felt their mouth fix agape, their dark hair splayed wildly beneath their head. He felt incredible. He felt _right_. They wanted anything but for him to stop, yearning for more with every rock of his body against theirs.

Nudging his face into the crook of their neck, he kissed their throat as he snaked a hand between them. He palmed the hard heat of their erection, sensing their ache in the way they throbbed in his hand. Their eyes rolled back beneath fluttering eyelids. A whine turned into a groan, deep and drawn out. He pumped them with his thrusts, his exhaled breaths hot and heavy against their neck. The edge quickly neared. Bloodhound felt themself begin to unravel. The canting of their hips started to stutter, growing erratic and desperate. Their walls fluttered and clenched around him, yearning his release. They called for him, over and over again, their breathing short and labored, and Elliott cradled their face to fuse their lips in a hard, heedless kiss.

“Cum for me, Hound. That’s it, babe,” he coaxed. “C’mon. Cum for me.” 

The feeling of him inside of them, the firmness of his hand around them, the vulgarity of his words – all of it brought them to climax. The intensity of their orgasm blinded their senses, making their body snap and keen. They mustered to wrap their arms and legs around him, pressing him flush, pulling him deeper. Elliott hilted with a final roll of his hips, giving into the warm, fluttering walls that spasmed around him. He spilled himself inside of them, the heat of his release meeting the heat of their enraptured body. Bloodhound accepted him with a gasp, their own release striping and filling the muscled grooves of their abdomen.

As orgasm subsided, the room quieted. Their mouths separated with a quiet smack, ribbons of saliva dangling between their swollen lips. With his face near to theirs, he admired them, speechless as he admired how beautiful they looked in the warmth of afterglow. Contentment sat in their half-lidded eyes. Their fair skin was rosied under a glisten of sweat. Their chest heaved, working to settle their hurried breaths. Together, their breathing intertwined and he kissed them again – slowly, tenderly – withdrawing himself from their entrance with a shiver.

“ _Fuck_ , Hound.”

They grew lax beneath him, fighting to catch their breath. They turned their head to cough, their body trembling with exertion. Elliott furrowed his brow and attempted to calm them, rubbing his hand over their chest. “Are you alright? Stay there. L-Let me get your mask.”

“No. No need,” they said quietly, shaking their head. They looked at him, their small smile offering reassurance. “I will be fine.”

Elliott nodded, leaning in to kiss them again. “Never let me lose you,” he said against their lips. “Never, _ever_ let me lose you. Promise?”

Bloodhound felt their heart skip. They pulled back to peer into soft, hazel eyes, their own gaze warming with his gentle smile. “What happened between us is…pure and true,” they answered him softly, running their fingers through his curls. “Fate must never let us part, _elsku_ Elliott _minn_. My dear Elliott.”

He took their face in his hands and thumbed over the apples of their cheeks. There were few words to describe how he felt. ‘Happy’ did not seem sufficient. The feeling coursing through him went beyond contentment, beyond satisfaction, beyond euphoria. He felt complete, like nothing else in the world made sense but Bloodhound. Unbridled emotion continued to swell, until it bubbled up through his chest and spilled out of his mouth before he could even try to stop it. “I love you.”

Their eyes widened with surprise. They stared, unblinking, seemingly startled by his admission. Much time had passed since _anyone_ had uttered those words to them. Only their mother, their father and those closest to them who dwelled in their village had ever told them. To Bloodhound, “I love you” meant something so precious. To them, “I love you” was a promise to commit, to trust, to vow to another real, unconditional love for as long as time allowed.

Their lingering silence sent him into a panic. Unsure of the thoughts running through their head, he faltered, nervous eyes flitting around the bedroom as if in search for an exit. Why did he say anything? He shouldn’t have said anything. Blurting out “I love you” after their first time in bed together wasn’t exactly smooth. Did he seem clingy? Did he seem desperate? They _had_ to be disappointed, but perhaps not entirely surprised that Elliott – _Mirage_ – the Outlands’ favorite playboy-next-door had already fallen in love with them.

Still hovered above them, he scrambled back. “I-I, uh…fuck, did I…did I say that out loud? I-I have n-no idea where that came from. I-I sh-shouldn’t have said anything. I _r-really_ shouldn’t have said anything. I-It’s fine. I g-get it, Hound. I-If you never want to talk to me again, I-I won’t even be mad. _Totally_ understand. _F-Fuck_ , I made this weird, didn’t I.”

Their wide-eyed stare softened to one of understanding as they watched him. He kept talking, stuttering humiliated apologies without daring to look them in the eye. Elliott started to slip from the bed, more than prepared to collect his things and vanish from their home, but they extended their reach to stop him. Bloodhound took his hand in theirs, watching with an endearing smile as Elliott flinched and quieted. A loving thumb-stroke over the back of his hand calmed him. At last, he carefully met their eyes and found himself in awe to see them wearing a smile. “Be calm, Elliott,” they said, gentle and kind. “You have spoken from the heart, and your heart is sincere. Do not be ashamed.”

Elliott bowed his head with a gulp. “I-I don’t…I don’t even know where that came from.”

“Love comes from a place we cannot control,” they answered, bringing their hand to the side of his face. “It is powerful. We cannot fight it.”

He relaxed under their touch, tipping his cheek into the warmth of their palm. “So…you’re not mad? Creeped out? Wishing you never, ever, _ever_ let me stick around?”

A laugh left them. “I am none of the sort, _elskan_. In truth, I only wish I had been the first to say it.”

His eyebrows raised in disbelief. For a second, he was certain his ears had deceived him. But, the glimmer in their eye and the serenity on their face told him otherwise. He grinned at them, answering with a tease, “Well, better late than never, babe.”

Bloodhound huffed another laugh as they drew their arms around his neck. They combed their fingers through his hair and admired every handsome detail of his face – the smile lines by his eyes, the brilliance of his smile, the enchantingly hazel color of his eyes. His enveloping arms drew them into the warmth of his body and cradled them in a gentle embrace. Lost in his gaze, the extent of their feelings for him grew even more apparent. They kept their face close as they answered him, speaking in a whisper, “I love you, Elliott.”

With both of their hearts unfolded, they shared a kiss. It was unlike the ones they had shared before. Romance replaced hunger. Love replaced lust. It was slow and unhurried, as tender and real as the words they had exchanged. Elliott smiled against their lips as he cradled their face in his hands, thanking each and every one of his lucky stars for giving him Bloodhound. “I love you,” he said again, touching his forehead to theirs. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”


	10. A Visit, A Date and a Bet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Update time - we're on Chapter Ten! <3
> 
> Thank you all for the continued love and support. :) I hope you're all loving the hell out of Season 7. I think Olympus is *beautiful* This season's gonna be GOOD.
> 
> As always, kudos and comment! <3

The remainder of the evening saw the pair enjoying cuddles on the couch and bowls of homemade stew. Blissfully tired by their evening together, both Elliott and Bloodhound had worked up an appetite. Bloodhound was relieved to find that the simmering stew had not stuck to the bottom of the pot when it came time to serve it. They insisted on fixing him a bowl –a more-than-generous helping to replenish his strength after a day of battle and a night of romance.

An oversized shirt was all that covered their frame while Elliott opted for only his underwear. They sat beside him, cozied under a blanket draped comfortably across their laps. Bloodhound let Elliott select a movie. He chose a comedy – not exactly their taste, but its elements of suspense kept their interest piqued. It played in the background while they ate, and Elliott countlessly complimented their cooking between hearty spoonfuls, commenting on the rich flavor, the fresh bites of assorted vegetables and the chunks of an unknown meat that Bloodhound had yet to disclose.

Either way, he finished a bowlful before the movie made it past the opening scene. Flattered by his appetite, Bloodhound gladly fixed him a second bowl. They topped off their own before they returned to his side, matter-of-factly mentioning to him that the meat in question had been harvested from a Prowler slain by their hand. Elliott took pause, figuratively and literally digesting the thought before he offered a shrug and happily finished his meal.

A few minutes passed before their spoons scraped their empty bowls. Bloodhound stacked Elliott’s in their own and leaned forward to set them on the coffee table. Elliott thanked them, drawing his arm around their shoulders while he reached for his glass of water. Bloodhound did the same, sipping gingerly, when a couple of coughs prompted them to pull the rim from their lips. Elliott turned his eyes from the images flickering across the television screen, concernedly and affectionately rubbing their shoulder. “You alright?”

Nodding, they managed to cover their subsequent coughs in the crook of their arm. “Yes, I’m fine. Please, would you hand me my respirator? I should not neglect to wear it any longer. It has been a few hours.”

Elliott obliged without delay, reaching for the respirator sat on the couchside table. “I’ll do you one better and put it on for you,” he flashed a smile, cradling the back of their head with a gentle hand as he fixed the apparatus snug over their mouth and nose. “Y’know, now that I think about it, you did mention somethin’ about needing to wear it after ‘ _extensive exercise_.’” He made a face, wriggling his eyebrows. “I’m flattered, Hound.”

His teasing brought an immediate heat to their cheeks. They rolled their eyes and clicked their tongue, cutting him a look through the smile hidden beneath their mask. Their clever retort was interrupted by a knock at the door. Both turned their heads in the direction of the sound. Curious, Elliott raised an eyebrow, and Bloodhound looked to him with a furrowed brow. Guests were uncommon, especially without notice. With a quiet sigh, they pushed the blanket from their lap and slipped from the couch. Elliott followed, peering through the peephole while Bloodhound hurried to fetch their helmet and a pair of bottoms.

“It’s Ajay,” he called out. “You expectin’ her?”

“ _Nei_ ,” they answered upon emerging from their bedroom, tossing him a shirt. “Dress first, then answer.”

Another round of knocks prompted him to hurry. Elliott scrambled to pull the shirt over his head. It was backwards, but the error escaped him and the hunter missed their chance to tell him before he smoothed back his hair and pulled open the door. “Evenin’, Ajay!”

Flashing him a peace sign and a smile, she echoed him. “Evenin’, Elliott. All good? Took yuh a minute to answer. What am I interruptin’?”

Elliott shot caught-off-guard eyes over his shoulder. “Huh? Interrupting? N-Nah! N-Nothin’ like that, we were, uh…we weren’t…doing anything.”

She eyed his inside-out shirt with a questioning smirk. “Uh-huh. Somethin’ about the way you’re dressed tells me yuh lyin’.”

He blinked, following her stare. A curse left him as he hurried to peel the shirt off and flip it right-side-in. He tried to downplay his embarrassment with a laugh. “That’s what I get for getting dressed in the dark! How long had it been like that? Man, what a bummer.” He paused, clearing his throat. “An-Anyway! What brings you by?”

“Checkin’ on Hound,” she told him, looking past him to the hunter stood behind him. “How yuh feelin’?”

They bowed their head in a single nod. “I am well. With Elliott’s care, my strength grows greater every day.”

Elliott glanced at them with a smile before returning his attention to Ajay. “Oh! Did I tell you Hound made dinner? It’s _amazing_. Who knew they were such a killer chef? Did you know that? I didn’t know that.”

“There ain’t much Hound’s no good at,” she said through a light laugh, stepping into the home. “Feelin’ well enough to cook? That be good news. Guess Elliott really is takin’ good care of ya.”

Their heart skipped at her words. From beneath their helmet, they turned their eyes in time to meet his. A small smile pulled at their mouth. They felt the warmth of contentment radiate throughout them as their mind fondly recalled how patient, loving and tender Elliott had been to them throughout his entire stay. “Yes. It has been a blessing to have him here. I attribute much of my healing to his aid.”

Ajay planted her hands on her hips, beaming. “Good on me for leavin’ ya in charge. Can’t even begin to tell ya how badly I got it from everyone for makin’ that decision. Even had the infirmary doubtin’ me.”

Elliott shrank, offering an apologetic smile. “Well, damn, Ajay. Never meant to put you through anything like that. I would’ve vouched for you.”

“Here’s your chance.” Dipping a hand into her pocket, she retrieved a folded note and handed it to Bloodhound. “Forgive me for stoppin’ by without a warnin’, but I had to get this to ya. Infirmary wants to see ya in a couple of days. Not to worry – only a follow-up.”

They flipped the note open and scanned the contents. “Thank you, Ajay. I will be sure to attend.”

She nodded. “Yuh welcome. For what it’s worth, Hound, I bet’cha’ll be back in action soon. Give it a week or two.”

Elliott lifted his eyebrows in surprise. A part of him leapt. A part of him sank. He hadn’t anticipated their return to be so soon. He had grown used to the delights and comforts of a more domestic day-to-day life. He had grown fond of caring for them and doting over them, and their reciprocated affection made every day sweeter than the last.

Keeping his emotion in check, he reminded himself how eager Bloodhound was to return to the Ring. Much of their life was centered around and had been molded by battle. It was part of them, and without it, their sense of purpose suffered.

Taking in a breath, he smiled and stepped to their side, resting a hand against their shoulder blade. “A week or two, Hound! Finally, huh? If that isn’t the best news you’ve heard all week, I don’t know what is.”

Bloodhound let out a quiet sigh, relieved. “Fate continues to call me to fight. Soon, I will be able to answer it. Thank you, Ajay. I am eager to return to the hunt.”

\- - - -

The following morning, Bloodhound woke early. The thought of a soon return to battle kept them from returning to sleep. Falling into a daze, they pictured the moment their boots again met the battle-torn lands of the Ring. Their heart quickened at the thought of facing foe along their _félagi_ fighters, slaughtering with the might of the Allfather and a renewed sense of strength.

A murmur from Elliott returned them to the present. They looked to him lying motionless at their side, his lips parted and passing slow, quiet breaths. His arm was drawn around them as it had been every night, keeping them snug against the warmth of his body. Watching him, they felt a tug in their heart. With their excitement came a tinge of ache. Their recovery and return meant losing their excuse for his constant company. Their mornings, afternoons and evenings would again become dominated by practicing, training and competing. Already, they knew they would miss having him in their home, in their bed, in their arms.

Shifting upright, they extended a hand to ease aside his tousled curls. Their palm came to rest against the side of his face. Elliott smiled in his sleep and mumbled their name, prompting them to lift themself up and plant a kiss to his jaw. “Rest, _elskan_ ,” they whispered, slipping from the bed without a sound. “I will see you when you wake.”

They stepped lightly from the bedroom and into the kitchen, stifling a yawn behind their hand. Fixing themself a cup of tea, they bid “ _góðan daginn_ ” to Artur and gathered him a bowl of grains, nuts and seeds, a breakfast he favored. The raven perched himself on their shoulder as they moved from the kitchen to the living room. Lowering to the couch, they set the bowl at their feet and let him feed while their attention turned to the sun that had only just crested the horizon.

They cherished quiet mornings. They reclined with a sigh, blowing gingerly at the wisps of steam that rose from their mug. The early sun painted the sky in the many colors of dawn, an image of promise and hope for a day yet to pass. As they sipped at their tea, they took a moment to thank the Allfather for another day of health and recovery, another day of friendship and romance. There was much to be grateful for, and they vowed to keep gratitude at the front of their mind as they day progressed.

Minutes of reflection passed before sleepy footsteps shuffled into the room. They paused mid-sip, turning their eyes aside to find a tired Elliott stood at the threshold. One hand scratched his bare chest while the other covered a yawn, lowering to reveal a drowsy, but beautiful smile. “Well, good mornin’, gorgeous,” he greeted as he approached, taking a seat at their side. “Sleep alright?”

They smiled softly. “Yes. I hope I did not wake you. I felt eager to rise. Forgive me if I was not quiet.”

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s nothin’ like that. Didn’t hear you at all. You know what woke me up? The bed got cold. Even when I’m sleepin’, I know when you’re not next to me anymore,” he laughed a little. “Couldn’t sleep?”

They nodded, their eyes downturned into their tea. “My anticipation to return kept me from further rest. I dreamt of battle. I awoke with adrenaline in my veins – I could not return to sleep.”

Elliott softened. “I get’cha, Hound. You should be out there, not in here. The next couple of weeks can’t come fast enough.” Pausing, he set a hand on their thigh. “But, hey. Somethin’ pretty special came out of all of this, didn’t it?”

Bloodhound met his eyes. They blinked, nodding their head. “Yes. Of course, Elliott. I never meant to imply otherwise. My time out of the Ring has been a blessing in disguise. I would not wish for anything different. I did not mean to seem ungrateful.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t come off that way at all, babe.”

Slipping his arm around their shoulders, he drew them close. He placed a kiss to their temple as they conformed to the crook of his side. Bloodhound hummed softly, cradling their mug between their hands. Elliott watched as they sipped their tea, the soft rays of the morning sun weaving through their hair. The light highlighted the dark, rich hues that complemented the fairness of their skin, the deep notes of color that enhanced the striking color of their eyes. He ran his fingers through it, watching the silken strands slip effortlessly between his digits. Bloodhound leaned their head against his shoulder, contented and comfortable beneath his tender touch.

Elliott let the silence linger. His thoughts returned to the conversation prior. He wished there was a way to alleviate their anxiety. He could practically feel their hunger to return to battle, and he knew remaining idle at home only worsened their unease. Twisting his lip, he tilted his head and broke the silence with a suggestion. “Here’s an idea for you, Hound. Later, why don’t we swing by the firing range? I-If you’re feelin’ up for it. Nothin’ like shooting a few rounds to clear your head, right?”

Bloodhound mused over their final sip of tea. “Yes, _elskan_. Very well. I would like that very much.”

He beamed. “Sweet. It’s a date.”

\- - - - -

The firing range was a sharpshooter’s dream. Static and mobile targets, training dummies and an unlimited disposal to every weapon, optic, attachment and hop-up imaginable made it a paradise for those looking to sharpen their skills. Every Legend made it a point to visit the range between matches to hone their weapons skills. Elliott was no exception, frequenting the range to improve his weaponry combat, test new elements of his holo-suit and perfect his craft. 

The sun beamed overhead – bright, unrelenting. The sky was cloudless, inviting the midday rays to heat up the air and earth. Elliott blew out a breath, lifting his goggles to wipe away the sweat already beading on his forehead. Thankfully, his attire was lightweight. The top he had selected was fitted to his frame, nearly transparent due to the sweat that soaked the light-colored fabric. Bloodhound took note of the way the material clung to his broad, sculpted chest, though they averted their attention before their focus could suffer.

The hunter had opted for pants paired with a sleeved top, along with their well-worn pair of fingerless gloves, goggles and respirator. Their hair was free – not from constraint, but from the confines of a helmet. Beautiful braids were twisted among loose, gentle curls, all secured with a tie high on their head. As he walked alongside them, Elliott admired how their scars webbed from beneath their mask, how their ponytailed hair played in the breeze, how the sun bounced off their goggles. Sharing the firing range with them would pose the same threat as sharing the battlefield. They would distract him with their enchantment alone. He was glad the range was vacant.

Elliott slipped closer to Bloodhound, brushing against their side with a suggestive smirk. “Hey, Hound. Did you notice? It’s just _you_ _and_ _me_ , babe. What’do you say? How about a little _cardio_ to get the blood pumpin’ before we start shootin’?”

Bloodhound paused mid-stride. Their mask hid the smirk Elliott knew was there. They gave a playful click of their tongue and lightly elbowed him in the ribs. His attempt to feign injury failed the second he started to laugh. “Ow, Hound! What the hell? It’s a good idea!”

“We have only just arrived and already you have lost focus,” they chided, trying to keep their smile from their tone. “We are here to _train_ , not to grow distracted by temptation.”

Elliott made a face. “Cut me a little slack, will ya? It’s not easy to focus when you’re training with the most beautiful person in the history of forever.”

“I imagine it is an insurmountable task,” Bloodhound teased. “But, let us focus. There will be time later for recreation.”

“Is that a fancy word for ‘foolin’ around?’ If so, I’m in,” he winked, turning on his heel to approach the racks of weapons. He clapped his hands together. “Alright! What’re we feelin’ today? Shotguns? Snipers?

Bloodhound set a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Not yet, _kærasti._ We have yet to stretch.”

Elliott cocked an eyebrow. “Stretch? What’re we runnin’ a marathon?”

They sighed through their nose, lowering their hand. “Nei. It is good practice. Shooting can tax the body, especially in the heat. Stretching will prepare and limber you.”

Turning to face them, he watched as Bloodhound narrowed their stance and took in a breath, exhaling as they reached for the ground and effortlessly touched their toes. “Join me.”

Stifling any complaint, he attempted to mime them, wincing with effort. Unlike Bloodhound, his stretching stopped before he could touch his toes. They moved again and led him into a second stretch, this time sitting comfortably on the ground. Slowly, they reached for one foot and then the other, each time holding the stretch for several moments. Elliott mirrored them to the best of his ability, his grunts of strained effort cutting through their meditative breaths. “S-Sorry,” he managed. “Mind askin’ your Gods to give me just a _little_ bit more flexibility?”

Bloodhound snorted. “With time and practice, you will improve.”

Still seated, they pulled their left elbow with their right hand. Elliott did the same, groaning pleasantly at the stretch that moved through his tense triceps. He let out a breath, letting his eyelids fall shut for the seconds of silence that passed. After repeating the stretch on the opposite side, he followed along with the remaining routine, from seated toe touches and shoulder rolls to standing torso twists and quad stretches. “Alright! I don’t know about you, but I’m ready.”

They nodded, standing and turning to face the nearby racks of weapons. They strolled from one to the other, tightening their gloves with they eyed their choices. They soon chose a G-7 Scout. The rifle molded to their grip, their practiced hands swiftly inspecting the weapon and loading the chamber. Elliott strolled behind them, grabbing a G-7 Scout for himself as well. “Oh! One other thing.”

They tipped their head. “What is it?”

“Let’s make a bet.”

They blinked. “A bet?”

His smile widened. “Yeah! You know…if you shoot more targets than me, you win something. If I shoot more targets than you, I win.”

They hesitated. “This is no time to bet.”

“Just hear me out! I already know what I want.”

Bloodhound folded their arms against their chest. “What is it that you want?”

“A kiss.”

They huffed a laugh. ““How _leiðinlegur_.”

He blinked. “Come again?”

“Lame,” they translated.

He made a face. “Is _not_.”

Beneath the mask, they smiled. “And should I win, what is my reward?”

Elliott took a moment to think, resting his rifle against his shoulder while he thoughtfully tapped his chin. “Hmmm. Oh! I know.” He grinned at them. “A kiss?”

Bloodhound laughed. “So, no matter the outcome, you earn a kiss. A stakeless bet.”

“Might be, but it’s definitely the smartest bet I’ve ever made,” he beamed, extending his hand. “Gotta shake on it to make it official.”

Clicking their tongue with fond exasperation, they shook his hand. “It is sealed. Make no mistake. Your charm may have persuaded me to accept your bet, but it will not bring me to defeat.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see about that,” Elliott winked.

Stepping aside, he twirled his rifle and pranced confidently toward the selection of optics and attachments at their disposal. He swiped a Ranger sight, along with a solid weapon stock and stabilizer, fixing them to his Scout with practiced ease. At his side, Bloodhound mirrored him, selecting the same sight, stock and stabilizer for the sake of keeping the bet fair.

Taking his place at the center of the firing range, Elliott straightened and put on a sure-of-himself smile. He eyed the targets in front of him. There were nine in total – three groups of three, all immobile. His sights remained fixed as he raised his weapon to his shoulder and steadied his aim, his two-handed grip firm and unwavering. Squinting through the scope, he drew in and released a breath through his nostrils. His finger curled around the trigger, and once he was sure of the shot, he fired.

Shot after shot pierced the air. Bloodhound observed, silent, their rifle slung against their shoulder. A target fell, and then another, and another – until, Elliott missed. He swore under his breath and bit his lip, but managed to maintain his focus and continue. Spent metal casing tumbled and fell as the final bullet exited the chamber, clinking lightly against the dry ground.

Elliott lowered his weapon with an exhale, pivoting to flash Bloodhound a lopsided smile. “What do you say, Hound? Not bad, huh? You shakin’ in your boots yet?”

Bloodhound chuckled shortly. “There is no fear,” they told him, their voice calm and even. Elliott stepped back, gesturing for them to take his place. They obliged, continuing, “Prepare for your defeat.”

Elliott hmphed with a knowing smile. He rested his rifle against a weapons rack and rested his back against it, his arms folded against his chest. He couldn’t mask his smile as he watched them, his beaming grin softening into gentle smile. Bloodhound moved with a one-of-a-kind grace. Every movement they made was elegant – the way their arms lifted to brandish their weapon, the way their body stood poised, ready and regal. Their chest expanded with a deep inhale as they took aim and prepared to fire, a passing breeze freeing wispy strands of hair from their ponytail. Elliott stared – enraptured, captivated – when the staccato of rifle fire flinched him from his thoughts.

One by one, targets fell. Each shot with clean and precise, piercing through what would be the head of a hostile. The Scout kicked back into their shoulder with every crack. They leaned into the recoil, their grip strong and sure. Widened eyes blinked beneath raised eyebrows, flitting between the toppling targets and the focused hunter. They were an incredible marksman, a seasoned sharpshooter, capable of landing shot after shot with unmatched proficiency.

When the gunfire cease, silence resounded. Bloodhound lowered their rifle, scanning over the range. Each of the nine targets were punctured. Not one was missed, and while their masterful marksmanship came as no surprise, Elliott still found his mouth agape. His expression made them smile. “Have your words escaped you, _elskan_?”

His jaw snapped shut. “D-Did you…You hit every target, didn’t you.”

Calmly, they glanced to the range and back at him. “It would appear so.”

He laughed. “You didn’t have to make it look so easy, you know. Next time, do my ego a favor and make it look a _little_ harder?”

They chuckled. “Victory was rightfully earned, and to the victor goes the spoils. Have you forgotten the kiss?”

Elliott peeled himself from the weapons rack, strutting toward them with a smirk. “Not a chance, babe.” He halted in front of them, his half-lidded hazel eyes lowering to where their lips lay beneath their mask. “You ready for your reward?”

With one hand, Bloodhound set their rifle aside. With the other, they peeled away their respirator, revealing the knowing smile fixed to their lips. Elliott felt his stomach flutter. The simple fullness of their mouth tempted him to kiss them without hesitation. He fought to restrain his desire, instead bringing his hand to the side of their face to draw them near. Bloodhound obliged, their parted lips hovering a breath above his.

They withdrew. “Not yet.”

Elliott stammered, seemingly frozen as Bloodhound slipped away. “Wh-Why not?!”

Their lips pulled back into a cunning smile. “The reward was too easily earned. Best two out of three.”

He lifted his hands. “Wh-What?! N-No, Hound!” he whined. “You can’t…you can’t just do that!”

They lifted their rifle again. “Respectfully, _elskan_ , such parameters were not established. We merely set the rules of the bet, not the term.”

“I-I didn’t…y-you never said…I th-thought…” Another smile from Bloodhound quieted him. He tried to look upset, though his frown morphed into a grin he couldn’t stifle. “Alright, fine. Best two out of three. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Round two commenced immediately. As the victor of round one, Bloodhound went first. Elliott buried his teeth in his bottom lip as he watched targets fall. Their shots were fired with swift accuracy and unwavering aim. He prepared to witness another perfect attempt – until, one target was missed. He huffed in surprise, though Bloodhound showed no upset, instead finishing their turn with masterful calm.

Lowering their rifle, they took a step back. Elliott took their place when gestured, flexing his fingers against his rifle in anticipation. There was an exaggerated air of confidence in his stance, a flair in the way he brandished his weapon and a playful glimmer in his eye. “Might as well pucker up now, Hound,” he teased. “This round’s mine.”

Unfortunately, such was not the case. Elliott missed more than his initial attempt, sending bullets whizzing above or beside the targets. His frustration compounded with every failed shot. He swore under his breath, soon finishing his turn with a defeated groan. “I know, I know,” he said before Bloodhound could comment. “That’s what I get for bragging. I know.”

“No good can ever come from an ego,” they answered calmly. “Fear not, Elliott. Defeat defines no one. You will learn from your mistake.”

He blew out a sigh, pushing his hands through his hair. “Yeah. Sure hope I do.” The look on his face shifted. He arched an eyebrow and slid close, murmuring, “Or…maybe I did all of that on purpose.”

Bloodhound huffed. “Why would you? A kiss would be earned in either victory or defeat.”

“If I’d won this round, I’d have to wait a third round for that kiss,” he explained through a grin. “I might be a patient guy, but I’m definitely not that patient.”

They let out a laugh. “Very…witty, _elskan_. True to your namesake.” Approaching him, they tipped their head. “Let us delay no more.”

Their hand found his cheek, the worn material of their glove meeting the coarseness of his beard. He leaned into their touch, watching with bated breath as their other hand pushed their goggles to their forehead. Elliott met their eyes – striking, captivating – shivering with anticipation when their thumb brushed over his bottom lip.

Bloodhound turned their head as they leaned forward, pressing their lips to his in a lingering kiss. They let his hands fall wherever they wished. Elliott curled his fingers into their shirt and pressed against them with a shudder. His brow twitched when their tongue pressed and nudged against the seam of his mouth, beckoning him to open. He parted his lips with a gasp, mirroring the motion and deepening the slow, unhurried kiss.

Bloodhound hummed. They stepped forward and leaned into him, planting a foot between his legs. Elliott found himself pinned to a rack, unable to slip from beneath the solid muscle of their body. With a tightening grip, he surrendered to pleasure, unable to stifle the whine that dragged from his throat when their knee nudged the tented crotch of his pants. The sound that echoed his moans made him shudder. They trapped his lip between their teeth, his pleasured gasp prompting them to tangle their fingers in his hair.

They groaned in both delight and triumph, pulling away with a languid swipe of their tongue over their lips. “Perhaps next time, Elliott,” they murmured, “the _vinna_ will be yours.”

Elliott slumped against the weapons rack. His eyes were glossed-over, indicative of the trance the hunter had cast over him. Blinking away his daze, he returned to his senses with a small smile. “Are you kiddin’ me? Here I am thinking I should start losing more often. What a _pleasure_ , babe.”

Bloodhound smiled. “Normally, I do not condone such sportsmanship,” they purred, sweeping their fingers through his hair. “But, I would be a fool to deny myself the same pleasure.”


	11. Tests and Teasing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here with another update! This work continues to be a joy for me to write, and as always, thank you all for continuing to support me as I write this story. We are nearing the end of this work (I am anticipating two more chapters). I hope you all enjoy this update! Please, keep up the comments and kudos - I love the feedback. :) <3

The infirmary bustled with activity. Doctors kept a hurried pace as they moved to and from, frantically scribbling on clipboards and urgently tapping on tablets. Medics scurried the floor, marching alongside gurneys where patients lay in various forms of distress. The overhead ceiling lights were bright and unrelenting, reflecting off of sterile-white walls that lined every hallway. To most, the commotion would be unnerving. But, it did nothing to compromise Bloodhound’s composure. They sat still in their stiff waiting room chair, keeping keen eyes on those who hastened around them. It took much to crack their calm. They kept their mind clear, taking slow, even breaths to remain grounded in the midst of the hustle and bustle.

At their side, however, Elliott was wound with worry. He blew out a sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair and leaned over his lap. His eyes fell closed and he bowed his head, his clasped hands shaking with every anxious bounce of his knee. From behind their helmet, Bloodhound creased their brow, worriedly watching him before they spoke. “Elliott.”

He flinched upright, startled even by their gentle voice. “Y-Yeah? Wh-What’s up?”

They paused, allowing him a moment to regain his senses. “All will be fine.”

He swallowed a heavy lump in his throat and nodded his head, relaxing slightly in his chair. “I-I know, I know,” he answered, attempting to mask the tremble in his voice. “I-It’s just…I-I can’t remember the last time the infir – infirma – infirm…the, uh, _doctor_ didn’t make me nervous.”

They nodded. “It is a common fright. However, you will not be subject to examination. Only me.”

“Yeah, and for whatever reason, I’m ten times more nervous than you,” he laughed. “I guess I just want everything to go smoothly for you, Hound. I know how much you’re _dyin_ ’ to get back out there. I want that for you, too. Truth be told, the Ring didn’t feel the same without you.”

The smile that accompanied Elliott's words made Bloodhound blush, and although their helmet hid the color that warmed their face, he could tell they were flattered by the way their voice lightened. “You are kind,” they said softly. “And your inference is correct. My hunger for battle has never been greater. I can only hope that my health has made significant improvement, and I am sure it has. You have taken great care of me.”

Elliott felt his smile widen. His hazel eyes grew honeyed with adoration. “When I’m takin’ care of someone like you, the pleasure is all mine,” he said in a hushed voice that sent a shiver up their spine. “I’d do it all over again, in a heartbeat.”

Their lips twitched as they mirrored his smile. They looked over the space around them to ensure they were alone before they slid their palm over his. Elliott entwined their fingers, and a gentle squeeze from their hand reminded him instantly of the unparalleled effect they had on him. They had a way with centering him with their words, with their touch. He felt grounded around them, placated by their presence alone. He didn’t want to let go. He held their hand until the last possible moment, until a door opened and a medic stepped out, calling their name, “Bloodhound?”

They stood, swiftly and discreetly withdrawing their hand. Elliott followed suit, matching their stride behind them as they approached the medic who summoned them. Without hesitation, she greeted them and stepped aside to let them pass. The smile on her face fell as Elliott approached. She turned an apologetic eye to him, denying him entry with a shake of her head. “I’m so sorry. Heightened privacy is mandatory for Bloodhound’s appointments. I’m afraid I can’t – ”

“It is fine. Let him come,” they spoke up behind her.

She turned her eyes, flitting between Elliott and Bloodhound. “B-But, your chart insists.”

They shook their head. “I insist he accompany me. Please, let him be the exception until further notice.”

The medic took pause, hopelessly searching the face of their helmet for certainty. Surprise was etched clearly into her face. Few ever anticipated the day when Bloodhound would welcome company to attend their normally private appointments. Their tone was firm. Their words could not be mistaken, and she worried the appointment might abruptly end if she insisted against their wishes.

Re-directing her attention to Elliott, she apologized and gestured for him to proceed. Elliott obliged with a muttered “thank you” and a sheepish smile. While Bloodhound’s insistence did not surprise him, he could overlook the medic’s hesitation. It was understandable. Bloodhound, a person known for their affinity for privacy, had asked – _insisted_ – for his company.

The medic led the pair to the examination room. Bloodhound lifted themself onto the table while Elliott settled into an adjacent chair. She peppered them with run-of-the-mill questions concerning their health and recovery. They answered concisely, but politely, and the medic diligently entered their responses into her tablet with acknowledging nods and smiles.

With the screening complete, she the tablet aside and unfurled a stethoscope from her pocket. Elliott felt his breath hitch as a familiar and fluttery warmth scurried over his skin. Watching the medic touch the bell of the stethoscope to their chest elicited a memory of a similar interaction between them. One evening, Bloodhound had turned early into bed with a good book and a cup of tea. Elliott had been keen on checking on them, visiting their bedroom with Ajay’s medic bag in hand. He remembered the innocent nerves that had painted their cheeks red when he wielded the stethoscope. Their hand had curled around his when he smiled at them, pressing his palm flush to their skin until the thrum of their heartbeat saturated his ears and coaxed him into a kiss – their first kiss, an _unforgettable_ first kiss.

Elliott blinked himself into the present. His daydream faded in time for him to catch the medic bidding goodbye. Focusing on Bloodhound, he ran his fingers through his hair and gave a gentle smile. “All good?”

Bloodhound nodded. Before they were able to offer him any response, the door opened again to reveal the doctor. She announced her entrance with a kind smile and an outstretched hand. Promptly, Bloodhound accepted and shook, politely voicing their pleasure to make her acquaintance. She noticed their head turn toward Elliott, and she pivoted to face him with an expression of surprise. “Forgive me,” she apologized immediately, approaching him to offer him the same formality. “Bloodhound does not usually bring someone with them. I didn’t expect anyone else to be here.”

"You're tellin' me. I thought I was goin' to have to bribe the medic," he said with a laugh, shaking her hand. "I get it, though. This sort of thing doesn’t happen ofter.”

“ _Ever_ ,” she corrected lightly, taking a seat on her stool. “Mirage, right?”

"Yup! W-Well, please - call me Elliott," he answered, flashing his signature smile. 

She smiled. "Of course, Elliott. You must be special if Bloodhound let you in here.”

An airy laugh left him. “Y-Yeah! Somethin’ like that. I, uh…I’ve been looking after them since the incident. I’ve seen all kinds of injuries in the Ring, but what happened to Hound really stuck with me. I found out they didn’t have anyone keeping an eye out for them and, well…I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

The doctor’s smile softened. “A Legend looking after a fellow Legend. That is very thoughtful of you.” She looked back to Bloodhound. “You are very lucky. Better keep him close.”

They smiled, and although it was hidden from view, Elliott sensed it. He reciprocated the tender look he knew was in their eye. Their locked gaze was filled with words that neither one of them needed to voice. It was a wordless acknowledgement of their bond. “Yes,” they answered. “That is my intention.”

The doctor clicked her tongue admiringly as she stood. She explained to both of them that the appointment would consist two tests to evaluate their current lung function, compare it to their baseline and determine the extent of their recovery. Bloodhound remained unfazed. They had been inundated with appointments from the childhood onset of their condition. Today was no different.

The first test was simple. The doctor motioned to a machine with an attached breathing tube, explaining that they would be required to breathe into the tube as normal in order for the apparatus to evaluate the movement of oxygen throughout their body. Politely, the doctor asked them to remove their respirator. Bloodhound promptly obliged, slipping the breathing tube between their lips and breathing as normal per the doctor’s instruction.

The second and final test was the most strenuous. Stationed in a corner of the examination room was a treadmill. Bloodhound immediately recognized the set up – a stress test. The doctor confirmed their conclusion, remarking that the purpose of the stress test was to measure the overall endurance and capability of their lungs. With a nod, Bloodhound approached the treadmill and slipped yet another breathing tube between their lips. The test commenced once their finger pushed “start” on the monitor. Their initial pace was a slow, leisurely walk, though it soon hastened to a trot, a job and a run. Their breathing hurried with their quickened gait, sporadically interrupted by a gasp or a cough.

Elliott knitted his brow. His arms folded tight against his chest and his stomach twisted like a vise. He knew it was only a test, but he hated seeing them struggle. Mentally, he pleaded for a quick end. Seconds passed like minutes. Minutes passed like hours.

And, finally, the test concluded.

The machine beeped, symbolizing the end of the stress test. Bloodhound came to a gradual halt, fighting to catch their breath with their hands on their hips. Elliott started to relax, some of his tension dissipating with the breath he had unknowingly been holding. Their breathing soon began to calm. Their breaths steadied, even more so when they fixed their respirator back over their mouth and nose.

Stepping off of the treadmill, they returned to their place on the examination table. Elliott returned to his chair, looking attentively to the doctor as she finished entering the last of her notes into her tablet. “Alright, Bloodhound. For starters, your lung function has significantly improved,” she told them, flipping her tablet around for both of them to see. She used her stylus to gesture to numerous data points scattered on a variety of graphs, continuing, “As you can see here, your lungs were quite compromised following your incident. I am seeing much better breath capacity and control, and an impressively quick recovery following the stress test.” She paused, lowering the tablet to her lap. “Now, your cough. It sounds better, but it hasn’t gone away. Is this something you normally experience?”

They nodded. “Yes. It has burdened me since childhood. However, the mask I wear alleviates my condition. It is never removed in battle.”

“I can vouch for that, Doc,” Elliott chimed in. “The mask _never_ comes off. Ever. Even when it’s damn near one hundred degrees in King’s Canyon,” he laughed. “And another thing? I just want to say I’ve personally seen a _lot_ of improvement. It’s basically night and day. I’m not tryin’ to toot my own horn here or anything and call myself ‘the best caretaker this side of the universe,’ but…hey, facts are facts. An-Anyway, the point I’m tryin’ to make is Hound is a _fighter_. They never gave up. Getting better was their number one priority. Recovery is never easy, especially as a Legend. I hope that shows..”

Smiling, the doctor hummed. “Thank you, Elliott, for being and continuing to be an excellent caretaker. Fortunately for you both, it did pay off.” She looked to Bloodhound. “Given today’s appointment, I can clear you to return to battle in two weeks. I understand there is a match tomorrow, and while it is unfortunate to miss another, I hesitate to rush the remainder of your recovery."

Emotion shot through them like a bolt of lightning.

Two weeks.

Only _two_ weeks.

They were relieved and overjoyed, anxious and excited. From the day of their incident and the onset of their recovery, they had envisioned the moment they would be cleared to return to the Ring. It felt unreal, nearly too good to be true. A deep exhale escaped their lips, their head bowing once in a nod of gratitude. "Thank you, _læknir_. I am eager to return. Until then, I will remain in good hands, under the care of my dear _vinur_.”

\- - - - -

With their health well on the mend and the dawn of their return approaching, Bloodhound felt their spirits lifted. The appointment went exactly as they had wished. They had arrived to the infirmary hopeful for a favorable bill of health and they had left feeling affirmed. Soon, the day of their return to the Ring would come. They would be able to reclaim their rightful place in the droves of battle, with their brethren by their side. Soon, that day would come, and they could hardly wait to seize it.

In the evening following their appointment, Bloodhound was restless. It was a kind of restlessness that came from excitement. No matter their attempts to calm down or Elliott’s urgencies to relax, their restlessness remained. Eventually, they proposed a walk. Nature grounded them. In particular, the cool evening air always calmed their active mind. Elliott hesitated, suggesting it may be best to take it easy after a strenuous doctor’s appointment. But, persistent, they insisted, and Elliott conceded after they promised not to become overly fatigued.

The trails were vacant. Given the time of night, most Legends had retired for the evening. Bloodhound welcomed the quiet, cherishing it as a rare moment of privacy with Elliott. Lacing their fingers between his, they matched his stride, relishing in the light of the moon that lit their path, the sound of their boots against the paved ground, the night calls of the wildlife scattered within the surrounding habitat. Silent, Elliott watched with a tender smile as Bloodhound tipped their chin to admire the moon pitched high in the night sky. A breeze caressed their face and gently weaved between strands of their dark hair. Beneath their respirator, they hummed, reflecting on the beauty of the bright, celestial glow.

After a moment, Elliott broke the quiet, following their gaze to the sky. “Well, I’m glad I listened to you after all. You picked a pretty perfect night for a walk,” he said softly. “Full moon, starry sky…Doesn’t get much better than this. _Man_ , I could stay out here forever.”

Bloodhound nodded. “As could I. Evenings like these have a unique calm. One day, I want to show you what it is like to sleep beneath the stars. There is nothing like it.”

Endeared by their proposal, he looked warmly toward them. “Yeah? I’d love that, babe. You, me and the great outdoors? What could be more romantic than that?” He paused, tilting his head. “Well, I guess a lot, to be honest. A candlelit dinner, a nice massage…yeah, that sounds pretty romantic, too.”

Lightly, they laughed. “Camping is romantic in its own right. Truthfully, Elliott, I find nature more romantic than the cliché.”

He shot them a lighthearted grin, preparing to respond with a quip as he carefully nudged them in the side. The wisecrack he started to say died on his lips when he heard them cough. Their hand lifted to their chest in an attempt to relieve a tinge of pain that gripped their lung. Another round of coughs escaped them, their brow knitting together as the ache persisted.

Elliott faced them, his hand immediately on their shoulder. “H-Hound?! Shit – are you alright? I didn’t mean to nudge you too hard. Wh-What’do you need? Wh-Why don’t you sit down for a sec?”

Fighting for their words, Bloodhound grunted, dismissing his concern with a shake of their head. “N-No. No, I am fine,” they insisted between shortened breaths. “It is a familiar pain. Nothing worthy of worry. It will pass in a moment.”

His face filled with doubt. “Are you sure? H-How do you know? We better not chance it. Come on, I’ll take you back home and – ”

“ _Elliott_. I am fine,” they repeated, voice unwavering. “Please.”

Elliott quieted, sliding his hand from their shoulder with a nod. Despite the voice in the back of his head urging him to press further, he didn’t. He never really meant to fret. Swarming them with worry only ever flustered them. He couldn’t help it, and as much as that sounded like an excuse even in his own head, it wasn’t. He didn’t just _care_ about Bloodhound. He _loved_ them.

Bloodhound drew in a breath and leaned their back against a tree. Exhaling, they lifted their goggles and tipped back their head, relishing in the freshness of the night air. “Artur always told me, ‘worry will not strip tomorrow of its burdens – it will only strip today of its joy.” After a moment, their eyelids lifted and they turned their attention to Elliott, their striking eyes focusing on him with a keenness that bristled his skin. “Your worry has been greater as of late. What is troubling you?”

Elliott dipped his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. That obvious, huh.” A small smile twisted his lip. “It’s just…you’re heading back into the Ring in a couple of weeks. Everyone’s going to be so glad to see you – not just the fans, but _all_ of us. But, the Games are brutal, Hound. Everyone might be excited, but they’re not going to go easy on you out there.”

“Good. I am ready,” they answered simply, confidently. “I would expect nothing different. To receive lenience would be unacceptable. I will face all _andskoti_ with honor.”

He nodded, contemplating their words for a few beats of silence. “I don’t want to see you hurt again,” he murmured. “And, before you say it, I know. I know you can handle it. I know there’s no point in me even worrying like this, but… _damnit_ , babe, if you get hurt…”

Peeling their back from the tree, they stepped in front of him and took his face in their hands. “ _Hætta, elskan_. You must not think this way,” they whispered. “It is of no use. Do not worry of what may or may not be. You will not be able to fight _ríkr_ tomorrow with a clouded mind.”

Elliott met their eyes, a sad smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah. Easier said than done.”

“We all took oath to battle, _ástin mín_. An oath to fight. It is never without risk.”

“Right. We sort of did sign up for a bloodsport, didn’t we,” he tried to answer with some levity. “Things definitely get complicated when you throw love into the mix.”

They tilted their head, thumbing over the scar on his cheek. “Love may complicate, but it conquers as well. I will be fine so as long as I have your love, _kær_. Have no fear.”

Their tender touch soothed his worry. Elliott closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, resting his forehead against theirs. “I love you, Hound.”

Bloodhound smiled and leaned forward to meet his lips. Their heart swelled. It wasn’t the first time they had heard him profess his love, but it felt as though it were. His love for them palpable. They sensed it in the sincerity of his words as he spoke to them, the warmth of his embrace as he drew his arms around them. They withdrew from the kiss with a hum, again meeting his gaze. “I love you, _elsku ástin mín_. Should fate not be kind to me, I pray the Allfather will let me recover again – preferably with your aid _._ ”

Elliott lifted his brow. His smile warmed. “Yeah? You’d nix a stay at the infirmary for a few nights with Doctor Witt? I’m that good, huh?”

They lightheartedly clicked their tongue, making a face. “My words should come as no surprise.”

He let out a short laugh. “Well, only the best deserve the best.” Pausing, he lifted his hand to slip a strand of their hair behind their ear. “If I was _really_ your doctor, I’d keep you homebound for as long as possible before I’d let you back out there. Call me ‘overprotective.’”

“That, you are,” they said, endeared. “What can I do to ease your worry, _elskan?”_

Elliott lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Hell if I know. It’s not like you can _prove_ anything to me until game day, you know?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. S-Sorry. I’ll knock it off. I know you _have_ to be sick and tired of my – ”

“I have an idea.”

He paused, blinking. “An idea?”

They nodded. “Yes. There _is_ something I can do, Elliott. A…demonstration, of sorts.”

There was a teasing lilt to their voice that was unmistakable. He blushed, his expression between interest and curiosity. “A, uh…a demonstration? I don’t know what you’re sayin’, Hound, but I _really_ like the way you’re sayin’ it.”

Mischief glinted in their eye. “Soon, you will come to know. Tomorrow, after you battle, I will show you.”


	12. To Reassure and Satisfy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021, everyone! First update of the new year and I am bringing all of you a chapter of mostly smut (and some fluff at the end). The support I received on this story last year was incredible, and as I wrap it up this year, I only hope to keep all of you happy <3 
> 
> I know I mentioned there would be one more chapter after this, but it's looking like two at this point. The final chapter now is coming in at over 10k words...so it'll probably be broken up into two parts, released one after the other. 
> 
> Again, thank you all for the love! Comment and kudos as always, and enjoy :) <3

_“What I have in mind will involve no one, but you and I.”_

“Elliott?!”

_“Soon, you will come to know.”_

“Elliott!”

_“Tomorrow, after you battle, I will show you.”_

“Elliott!!”

Rattled from his thoughts by an elbow to the ribs, Elliott shot startled eyes to the perturbed Legend stood at his side. With her lips twisted into a frown and her arms folded against her chest, Wraith narrowed her icy eyes, frustration evident in her pointed stare. “Get it together, Elliott,” she criticized. “What’s with you?”

He blinked.

Another daydream.

It certainly wasn't the first time he had mentally checked out in the middle of a match. Sometimes, he could evade criticism by blaming a long night at the Paradise Lounge. This time, he had no excuse to fall back on. Embarrassed, he avoided eye contact by focusing his attention on the assault rifle in his hands. “Nothing’s with me! R-Really. Nothing at all,” he insisted. “W-Well, I mean…Hound said somethin’ the other day and it’s, uh…just been on my mind ever since.”

Overhearing the conversation from her post a few feet away, Loba straightened and turned her head in their direction. “Oh? Do tell, beautiful,” she beckoned, approaching with an intrigued tilt of her head. “I _love_ a good story.”

He met her prying eyes with a gulp. “St-Story? Who ever said anything about a story? That is the story!”

“Do you need advice?” she continued, as if his words went in one ear and out the other. “I can spare some good advice – _without_ a price, this time.”

Uneasy, his hazel eyes flitted between them. He let out a nervous laugh and waved his hand, taking a step backwards. “I _told_ you, it’s _nothing!_ I’m probably overthinking. W-We’re just wasting our time on – ”

Loba cut him a knowing look. “Enough already. Give it to us straight,” she demanded. “I don’t like a man who plays games.”

“Quickly,” Wraith urged. Her eyes sharpened as she glanced over her shoulder. “Danger might be near.”

“Wait! Let me guess,” Loba went on, strutting forward with the tip of her nail tapping her chin. “You asked them to dinner and they turned you down. Aww, Elliott. Isn’t rejection such a pity? I can empathize.”

He blinked, taking one step back for every one of her steps forward. “Wh-What?! N-No, what are you…I-It’s _nothing_ like that,” he stammered, flinching when his back hit the wall. He tried to betray the blush on his face by keeping his tone firm. “Let’s all just forget about this, al-alright? Forget I said anything. W-We’ve got a game to win!”

Wraith huffed. “Funny. We have a game to win, but you haven’t been pulling your weight since we touched down.”

Elliott bit his lip. “H-Have I been _that_ bad?” he asked, wincing as if bracing for her response. “Sure, I messed up here and there, missed a few shots and needed to be revived a couple of times. Wh-What’s your point?”

“I think you just made it for me,” she answered plainly. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

Loba clicked her tongue. “Oh, go easy on him. Isn’t it obvious? He can’t get them out of his head. He’s in _love_. I think it’s wonderful. We need something else around here besides all of the blood and guts.”

He sank against the wall, the color on his face deepening. “I-I…I never said…”

A laugh left her as she turned on her heel, spinning her staff between her fingers. “Save it. You look cute when you’re flustered,” she teased. “Come on. Let’s finish this – like _champions_.”

Wraith blew out an exasperated sigh. “Right. Back to business.”

Unfortunately, the rest of the match did not proceed as hoped. Elliott felt trapped in an ever-present daze, floating between a daydream and reality. He remembered the teasing levity in Bloodhound’s voice. He remembered the look in their eye. The intention of their promise had been clear, and it was enough to steal his focus. Soon faced with an opposing squad, his team swiftly met their demise. The enemy was far less favorably equipped, but managed to overwhelm them. Failing to anticipate the opponent’s charge, only a fraction of Elliott’s shots landed. Wraith punched a portal, but found both of her squadmates eliminated before either one of them could make their interdimensional escape.

At home, Bloodhound watched with a concern-creased brow. It was not unusual for Elliott to make the occasional blunder. If anything, it was endearing. But, this was different. He was clumsier than usual and Bloodhound immediately knew why. Elliott was clearly wound up in his thoughts, struggling to stay present even in the crux of battle. It pained them to watch him struggle. They wanted nothing more than to help him, and knowing they had to be the cause of his distracted performance only made their frown deepen. Helpless to aid him, they were left with no choice but to wait, letting out a sigh when his team swiftly met its end.

Elliott tried his best to avoid an onslaught of flack as he hurried home – with no such luck. En route to their respective apartments, Wraith and Loba walked at either side of him, hounding him with questions about his performance in the Ring. He managed to get them off his case with a hand-wave and a smile, ensuring there was nothing further to look into. He claimed it had simply been an off day, and with both of his fellow Legends finally satisfied with his response, he waited until both of them were no longer within eyeshot before he hurried for Bloodhound’s door.

His frantic knocking alerted them right away. They rushed to answer, opening the door after confirming his identity through the peephole. Elliott rushed inside and closed the door behind him, dropping his bags to his feet. “ _Man_ , am I glad to see you. What. A. Day,” he sighed, kicking off his boots. “N-Not like I’m not _always_ glad to see you or anything…. because I am. Y-You know what I mean. Today sucked.”

Pulling their respirator from their face, they revealed a worried frown. “Yes, I understand. Thank the Gods for your well return.”

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me. Somehow, I made it out of there with only a couple of scratches…well, that and a shattered ego,” he laughed nervously, shrinking down. “Be honest. How bad was it? Nothing can hurt worse than whatever the hell I just did out there.”

They gently shook their head, stepping closer to him. “Do not be ashamed. The blame is mine. It was unwise of me to busy your mind. It was a distraction – one that could have cost you more than a mere scratch. Please, accept my apology, _elskan_.”

Elliott made a face. “N-No, Hound. I-It’s not you,” he answered. “It’s me. _All_ me. You didn’t mean anything mal-mail- _malicious_ by sayin’ what you said. It’s my fault for getting so hung up on it. I don’t know if it was the _way_ you said it or _how_ you said it, but…damnit, I couldn’t shake it. I _still_ can’t.”

Their worried frown twitched into a smile. “Is that so?” they asked in a purr, bringing their hand to his cheek. Their palm cradled his jaw and they thumbed slowly over his lips. “You were eager to return home.”

He stilled under their touch. His throat bobbed in a heavy swallow and his breath hitched, a familiar heat tinting his tanned skin. “I mean, you’re not wrong,” he said, his voice already rasped with lust. “I couldn’t get you out of my head. Do you have any idea how much you’re drivin’ me crazy with this…riddle?”

Bloodhound let out a light laugh. “This is no riddle, Elliott.” Their eyes lowered to his lips, their head angled as if preparing for a kiss. “It was a promise – a promise to put at ease your fear that I will not bode well returning to battle in a matter of days.”

In anticipation, Elliott tipped his face and moistened his mouth with a flick of his tongue. “Yeah? You can’t blame a guy for wanting to protect someone so beautiful.”

“I understand,” they murmured, their lips a breath above his. “But, by the night’s end, I will reassure you. No longer will you worry. I promise.”

With his interest piqued, Elliott mindlessly followed them through the foyer and to the bedroom. His thoughts ran wild with possibility and fantasy, and his heart quickened when the hunter peered over his shoulder with a half-lidded look that nearly made him spellbound. They took his hand before they opened the door, revealing a room bathed in candlelight and scented with incense. His eyes widened as he stepped inside, his mouth open in a silent gasp. Behind him, Bloodhound closed the door. Elliott slowly turned his head from one side to the other, admiring the cozy and romantic ambiance.

“Hound,” he breathed, looking to them. His open mouth closed into a loving smile. “You did all of this?”

“For you,” they answered softly. “Does it please you?”

“Are you kidding?” he laughed lightheartedly, facing them. “Yes. You’ve outdone yourself, babe.”

“The pleasure was mine,” they said sweetly. “And soon, it will be yours as well.”

Stepping in front of him, they took his face in their hands. Elliott swallowed, shivering at the closeness of their lips and the nearness of their body. He drew his arms around their waist, smiling warmly beneath the thumbs that caressed the ridges of his cheeks. For a moment, he lost himself in the brilliance of their eyes. He felt time pause as he admired the flickering candlelight against their beautiful scars, against their fair skin and dark hair. In the same way, Bloodhound found themself captivated by his honey-hazel eyes, his kind smile, his warm embrace. They melted into him and gently drew him even closer, closing their eyes a moment before their lips met.

Elliott immediately relaxed. He relinquished it all. His stress dissipated into the kiss. He no longer had concern or care about what happened earlier. When he was with Bloodhound, none of that mattered. He held them tighter, pulling them flush against his body until he could feel every contour and curve. Bloodhound hummed deeply in their throat, dropping their hands from his face to snake them between their bodies. With short, hard tugs, they worked to remove his gear. Elliott smiled against their mouth, busying his own hands by unbuttoning their loose-fitting tunic. With nothing underneath, his hands easily found their skin. He touched over every inch of flesh within his reach, groaning at the heat radiating from their strong, heaving chest.

Bloodhound felt their brow twitch as they arched. “Elliott.”

His gear started to fall. Piece by piece, it hit the floor. Bloodhound started to walk forward, stopping only when the backs of Elliott’s knees hit the end of the bed. He broke the kiss as he sunk down onto the mattress, watching with panted breaths as the hunter peeled him out of his suit. They leaned over him, pressing kisses to his exposed body, savoring the taste of sweat and skin on their tongue. They paused upon noticing he had gone without underwear. A smile pulled at their mouth, their eyes flicking up to his face with a cunning glint. “Nothing underneath,” they observed. “How thoughtful.”

The blush on his face deepened and he laughed a little. “Oh, you know. I guess I had a feelin’ that wearing less would work out for me today.”

Bloodhound made a quiet laugh, haphazardly kicking aside his discarded suit. With Elliott’s eyes on them, they took their time removing their own clothes. They had his attention captured. He couldn’t look away, nor did he want to. He drank up the sight of their undressing, watching as the tunic fell and left their chest bare. Elliott spotted the healing, stitched-up wound on their shoulder. He admired the scars in their skin, each a tale of battle and survival, forever etched into their body. He marveled their tattoos, tracing their intricacy with his eyes, following the patterns inked into their skin. In one fell swoop, Bloodhound stepped out of their bottoms and their underwear. Their nudity alone was enough to arouse him. He looked them over, astonished that the hunter in front of him truly was _his_.

“Fucking _beautiful_.”

They smiled. “As are you, _ástvinur_.”

Bloodhound lowered themself to the bed. They hovered above him, planting one knee between his spread legs. The front of their bare body brushed his, and while the hunter put most of their weight in their arms, Elliott could feel the hardness of their muscle every time they pressed into him. Their biceps caged his head as they leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss hungrier than the first. With a tilt of their head, they swiped their tongue over the crease of his mouth and groaned when swiftly granted entrance. Elliott creased his brow, wincing with pleasure, sliding his hands up the solid slope of their back and into the dark mane of their hair. His fingers twisted and his nails clawed, inflicting a slight tinge of pain he knew Bloodhound loved.

Again, they groaned, trapping his bottom lip between their teeth. He gasped and shuddered, aroused by the domination in their kiss. They released him and pulled back, humming as he protested and chased the kiss with an objecting moan. “Tell me, _”_ they requested, barely above a whisper, sliding their hand up the side of his face to take a fistful of curls. They kissed him again, speaking against his mouth, “How can I please you? What do you wish for?”

“You,” he answered immediately, breathlessly. Beneath them, he writhed, shuddering out a moan when his already-aching arousal brushed against their erection. “ _F-Fuck_ , I need you – ”

Their lips again claimed before he had a chance to finish. The kiss swelled, threatening to rob him entirely of his breath. Bloodhound ground down against him, feeling the slick of his pre-cum smear between their bodies. Elliott gasped into their mouth, breaking the kiss with a crane of his neck. He lifted and lowered his hips in time with their movements, trembling as he felt helpless beneath their weight. They wasted no time in peppering his exposed throat with heavy, hot-blooded kisses, rutting against him with the same uninhibited need. The softness of their lips contrasted the sharpness of their teeth. With fluttering eyelids, Elliott called out their name again and again, grabbing onto them for leverage.

Their hand snaked between them, sliding with a deliberate slowness over the ridge of his collarbone, the slope of his chest and the plane of his abdomen. With the same calculated ease, their fingers wrapped around his length. He arched and shuddered, blushing at the choked whine that left him. The warmth of their palm enveloped him before the firmness of their grip. Steadily, they stroked him, coaxing him deeper and deeper into pleasure, accompanying their touch with fluttering kisses over his neck and jaw. “Is this good, _ástin mín?”_ they breathed against his skin, giving him a careful squeeze. “Does this please you?”

Mustering the breath to speak, he nodded his head. “Y-Yes. _Yes_. S-So… _aah_ , so good.”

Bloodhound smiled against him, tracing his collarbone with their lips while they thumbed over his tip. Their skilled, careful touch made him drool pre-cum. It wet their hand and slickened his skin, making him all the easier to pump. Elliott felt the tightness in his gut worsen, a familiar telltale of an imminent climax. Enraptured by his intensifying ecstasy, he failed to annunciate his pleas through his breathless moans, but Bloodhound recognized his pleasured anguish. They slowly withdrew, extending their other hand to sweep back tousled and peer deeply into his heavy, hazel eyes.

“Not yet, my love,” they purred.

He swallowed, biting his lip. “Pl-Please.”

Gently, they shook their head, brushing the backs of their fingers against his cheek. “Your patience will be rewarded. Allow me a moment.”

Elliott watched them pull away, sinking into the mattress beneath him. The moment apart was opportune for him to try catch his breath, although his excitement made it difficult to do so. He wondered what Bloodhound had in mind. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his hand around his cock. He lifted a knee and curled his toes, digging his teeth into his bottom lip. His eager mind went wild, unashamedly imagining what it would feel like to be _taken_ by them, to _feel_ them inside of him, to be forever _marked_ by them. Elliott furrowed his brow, daring to slip his fingertip over his awaiting hole. Baring down with the pad of his finger, he circled and pressed against himself, releasing a quiet, shuddering moan when his muscles relaxed and accepted the finger with little resistance.

Bloodhound started to announce their return, but found themself lost for words when they saw him. Silently, they watched him writhe in his private moment of pleasure, clearly engrossed in the fantasies playing out in his mind. Carefully, they approached him, making their presence known with a soft, satisfied hum so as to not startle him. Elliott opened his eyes and met theirs, his own weighted with lust beneath heavy lids. Sighing with need, he spread his legs a little further and willingly let them watch. It was a tease, one that instantly made their blood hot with desire. Kneeling in front of him, they leaned forward to place light, butterfly kisses over his skin, from his quivering inner thighs to his tight, aching balls.

Elliott slammed his head back with a gasp, shutting his eyes. “H-Hound…!” he begged. “Ohh, _fuck_ , baby.”

They flicked their eyes up to his face, their tongue lolling out of their mouth as they licked a stripe up his length. Their lips paused at the head, smearing drooling bead of pre-cum as they spoke. “You were captivated by your imagination, _elskan_. A fantasy?”

His mind mush, he barely nodded.

Intrigued, they hummed. “Tell me.”

Elliott felt his face redden. He lifted his head, finding intent eyes locked on his own. He struggled through stammers to articulate, and when their lips his cock, all reason escaped him. The warm, wet heat that encased him was mind-numbing, unforgiving. Elliott grabbed desperately at the bedsheets, fighting for air. “Y-You…inside me,” he finally managed. “F-Fucking me _.”_

His words aroused them. Bloodhound groaned, intensifying the already-intense heat that enveloped him by leaning forward and burying their nose in his dark, coarse curls. They swallowed around him, making him arch and plunge into their throat. A cough escaped them when the head of his cock ventured deeper than intentioned, but their eye contact remained – intent, desirous, wanting. With one hand, Bloodhound stroked him in time with the bobs of their head, groaning when his fingers claimed a fistful of their hair. With their other hand, they palmed themself, replaying his admitted fantasy over and over in their mind.

“Yes, _yes_ , aah… _fuck_ , yes,” Elliott panted above them.

Their skilled mouth and tongue worked him into a daze. He seemed to unravel on the bed, rolling his eyes beneath his fluttering eyelids as breathy moans spilled out of him. Bloodhound’s finger soon replaced his, occupying the same tight space of his entrance. Easily, their finger moved in and out of him. A second finger joined the first, stretching him, curling to brush and press against the delicate bundle of nerves inside of him. Elliott whined, failing to hide his face against the mattress. His cock oozed, thoroughly coating the hunter’s tongue as they continued to please him. They swallowed his taste with a satiated groan, watching him, weighing every one of his pleasured winces and moans to ensure they kept him at the brink of orgasm.

When his noises loudened and his pleasure dared to climax, they withdrew, planting tender kisses to either one of his thighs. Their withdrawal did not evade objection. Elliott pleaded with a moan and spread his legs further in a wordless invitation for them to continue. Bloodhound stood, brandishing a bottle of lube they had retrieved when they had stepped away. They applied a generous amount to their palm and set the bottle aside, returning their focus to Elliott’s eyes as they palmed themself. He stared, admiring the effortless glide of their hand against their length, the glisten of their lube-slicked skin, the beads of pre-cum dribbling down their eager cock. Thoroughly, they coated his entrance, preparing him for the inevitable.

“My _kær_ , are you ready?”

“Yes. _Yes_ , baby.”

Bloodhound settled on their hands and knees above him, leaning to down to lock their lips in a heated kiss. One of their hands cradled the side of his face, sliding over his bristly beard until it slipped into his hair. Their other hand aligned their cock, and when the tip grazed his entrance, Elliott trembled with anticipation. He wanted them. His body needed them. Every part of him screamed for them. Sharing and sensing his desire, Bloodhound broke the kiss to look at him, to watch the way his brow creased and his mouth gasped as they entered him, guiding inch after inch inside of him.

His moan echoed throughout the room. His nails dug into their back. His head fell back against the bed. Bloodhound paused, savoring the feeling of his body around them, the feeling of their bodies united. They leaned down, peppering his face with kind and patient kisses. His comfort was priority. They wanted to ensure he accommodated to them before they proceeded. “Elliott…”

He nodded, his chest heaving. “More, babe.”

Their lips took him into another kiss, melting together as they hilted themself with a groan. The heat of his body sealed around their cock. He felt hot and tight, firm yet wonderfully yielding. Needy, Elliott hooked his leg around their hip and pulled them closer, driving them deeper. Bloodhound groaned into the kiss, shuddering upon sinking even further into him. His impatience aroused them. They shifted, thrusting their hips in long, languid movements, each time finding that spot inside of him that made his breath hitch. Elliott bit off a curse as he lifted his hips to meet their pace, unabashedly moaning with every deliberate plunge of their cock.

They echoed him, their answering moans nearly lost in the kiss. Much to Elliott’s pleasured torment, Bloodhound took their time, fighting to tame the ache inside of them that wanted to take him without restraint. They remained paced, molding themself into every delicate nook of his body. Elliott could not keep quiet. Through his shortened breaths, he praised them, lauding over how _good_ they were, how good they _felt_. His words of worship were like fire through their hot-blooded body. They groaned, taking his lip between their teeth again with calculated ravenousness.

“F-Fuck…” he choked. “Harder, Hound. Give it to me.”

Lapping at the crescent-shaped grooves embedded in his lip, they felt their cock harden even further inside of him. Their hand gripped his side, keeping him steady as they prepared to obey his wish. The vise of Elliott’s legs tightened around their middle and the flex of his thighs kept them in place. He brimmed with anticipation, leaning his head back to invite their lips to flutter up and down the bobbing column of his throat. Bloodhound inhaled the tantalizing scents of his skin ad his cologne, tightening their hold on his hip before they quickened the snap of their hips. The raw power of their thrusts sent numbing euphoria tearing through him. He cried out, dragging his nails up their back and twisting his fingers in their hair, fisting the strands in a desperate effort to remain grounded. Bloodhound panted against his skin, their warm breath heating up his flushed skin as they fucked him without abandon.

“Fuck, _fuck_ …!” he called to the ceiling. “ _Yes_ , baby. Just like that, baby. Ohh, _fuck_ …! You’re… _s-s_ _o_ _good_ , baby.” 

Their moan dipped into a whine as they found his mouth again. His praise was like an aphrodisiac, intensifying their appetite for more. The sight and sound of Elliott inundated with pleasure fueled the fire pulsing through their veins. They _wanted_ him. They _needed_ him, and what was more, they needed to mark him. The thought alone made them shudder. The growing sloppiness of the kiss conveyed their desire. Ribbons of saliva tangled between their mouths like their eager tongues. Their lips locked and their teeth clashed as their moans and breaths mingled. Skin slapped against skin, adding to the lewd cacophony that reverberated throughout the dimly lit bedroom.

Elliott broke the kiss to breathe, touching his forehead to theirs. His face grimaced with pleasured anguish. Bloodhound was beautifully relentless. It was agonizing. It was _incredible_. The flush on his cheeks face deepened as his moaned praises and breathless chants slurred into pleas for _more_ , pleas for _harder_ , pleas for _faster_. His body yearned for _all_ of Bloodhound with every rock of their body against his, every hungry drive of their hips and hard plunge of their cock.

Answering his pleas, Bloodhound pinned his wrists above his head. With every snap of their hips, they bottomed out, spearing his prostate until his moaned words became incoherent. Their cock filled him in ways he thought unimaginable, gliding in and out of him with intoxicating precision. His thighs quivered and his entrance fluttered, warning them of his quickly-approaching orgasm.

“S-So…so cl-close,” he managed. “I-I’m…I-I’m almost…almost there. D-Don’t stop.”

Again, they kissed him, hard and heavy. Their hand snaked between their bodies, palming the hard heat of his erection. They coaxed him toward orgasm, purring in a voice like velvet for him for cum. Elliott felt himself tumbling into orgasm, the heaves of his chest growing increasingly shallow, the telltale flutter of his eyelids returning, the arch of his spine deepening. The feeling of their cock inside of him, the steadiness of their hand around him, the beautiful vulgarity of their whispered words – all of it brought him to climax.

His body snapped and keened beneath them, a ragged cry dragging from his throat. Bloodhound watched as euphoria washed over him, alighting every nerve in his entire body until all of him sang with pleasure. His cock throbbed in their grasp, drenching the space between their fingers and the back of their hand with his release. Watching his orgasm sent them into their own. Their rhythm stalled and stuttered until they hilted with a final roll of their hips, surrendering to the fluttering walls of his aching heat. As a whine turned into a groan, they spilled themself into him, the heat of their release sending another jolt through his electrified nerves. They filled him, flooding him, making him ooze with the overflow. Unthinkingly, Elliott clenched, milking them, keeping their cock in place until the final drop.

Their lips separated with a smack. The room quieted, no longer filled with the sounds of sex. Both of them fought for air. With mere inches between their faces, Bloodhound admired him, cherishing the way his orgasm subsided to afterglow. Contentment sat in his half-lidded, honey-hazel eyes. His tanned skin was bathed in a beautiful head-to-toe flush. His sweat glistened in the faint glow of the candlelight, matting his dark curls to his beaded forehead. Their hand swept up his heaving chest, pausing at the side of his face. Elliott smiled beneath their touch, his tired, lopsided, perfect smile bringing their lips to his again.

“I love you, _ástin mín._ ”

His smile widened against their mouth. Their words came from a place in their heart that few had touched before. Their words were loving and sincere, and his own heart fluttered with bliss. He took their face in both of his hands, dipping his forehead against theirs as he answered, “I love you, too, gorgeous.”

The kiss lingered, sealing their shared and earnest profession. Bloodhound withdrew from his entrance, the sigh that left them turning into a short bout of coughs. They turned their head, covering their mouth with their arm. Elliott sat upright, setting both of his hands on their shoulders as he tried intently to make eye contact. “Hey. Easy, easy,” he said gently, running his fingers through their hair in hopes to calm them. “Are you alright? Let me grab your – ”

“Not yet,” they mustered. “I will be fine.” They focused on his touch, his gentle caress soon soothing their overworked lungs. As the fit subsided, they turned their face to smile at him. “My timing could not be more unfortunate. I intended to ask whether or not my…performance this evening finally quelled your worry.”

Elliott laughed a little. “Talk about bad timing. M-My bad. I re-really shouldn’t have kept askin’ for more.”

They shook their head. “That is no matter. I wanted to,” they said, voice low. “ _Terribly_.”

He arched beneath them, biting down on his lip. “Yeah? Well, you were _incredible_ , babe. _So_ fuckin’ good. Bein’ with you _always_ blows my mind. I hope you don’t mind carryin’ me around tomorrow, because I am _not_ gonna be able to walk.”

Bloodhound hummed, claiming his lips in a kiss. His praise sent fire through their veins, nearly riling them up for more of what had just concluded. “I will be here for you. And, tell me,” they murmured. “Has my strength convinced you?”

He tipped his head and stroked his beard, feigning deep thought. “Hmm. I don’t know. I think I might need to go another round to _really_ make up my mind.”

Bloodhound smiled as they made a playful scoff. “You would be bedbound for a week, nevermind _one_ day.”

“Fair point,” Elliott laughed. “Well, consider yourself battle-ready, babe. If you bring that same energy with you out into the Ring, you’ve basically guaranteed yourself a win.”

They chucked lightly, shifting the lie beside him. “Thank you, _elskan_. That is my hope.”

The amusement on his face morphed into endearment as he looked them over, his eyes soft with afterglow and love. He propped himself up on his elbow, leaning his head in his hand as he followed the aimless movement of his finger against their chest. “You really are one in a million, babe. No – one in a _trillion_ , or maybe one in a…how many people live in our galaxy?”

They let out a light laugh, bringing his wandering hand to their lips. “You spoil me with your words. Never have I met a man with such a kind heart.”

His smile warmed. The gentle look on his face said it all as he leaned forward to kiss them, listening as they hummed softly against his mouth. Like the kiss, he let the silence linger, their breathing merging into one indiscernible breath, their lips molding into one unbreakable kiss.

Elliott leaned back, but kept his face near. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tuckered out. What do you say we hit the hay?”

Bloodhound started to object when a yawn interrupted them. “Wouldn’t you first like a bath, my _kær?”_ they asked him, covering their yawn with a hand. “And you have not yet had a meal. Battle is taxing. You should replenish your reserves.”

“I’m pretty sure tonight lasted a hell of a lot longer than I did in the Ring,” he grinned, stretching and lying back against the bed. “Let’s see...Take a bath and cook dinner, or stay here and cuddle up with only the most beautiful person in the Outlands? I think I’ll go with option B.”

They clicked their tongue, smiling as they rested beside him. “So be it. I cannot argue with you.”

Satisfied, his smile widened. Before he grew too comfortable, he sat upright again, fetching their respirator from the bedside table. He faced them, using careful hands to fasten the apparatus over their mouth and nose in time to stifle a building cough. Bloodhound thanked him with a nod and with sincerity in their eyes, their hand extending to take his. They kept their hands entwined as they lay down and closed their eyes.

Elliott pulled the bedsheets over them, tucking them gently around their body. Resting his head on the pillow beside theirs, he swept their hair from their forehead and watched them slip into sleep, savoring the stillness of the evening around them, the gentle pattern of their breathing from behind their respirator, the feeling of their warm body beside his.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his words unanswered by the resting hunter. “See you in my dreams.”


	13. A Promise Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! :)
> 
> The chapter before the final chapter. :') The positive reception I have received from the start has been incredible. A HUGE thank you to those of all of you who have gave this fic a read, left a kudos, made a comment or shared this with a friend. It means SO MUCH. <3
> 
> I will say that the final chapter has been written as well. It'll be longer than this one, and I anticipate posting it within one or two weeks. :)
> 
> Please, enjoy! <3 Kudos and comments welcome, as always! I love hearing what you all think.

The long awaited, highly anticipated day of Bloodhound’s return had arrived.

Weeks had passed since they had last stepped into the Ring, but suiting up for battle came naturally. Their clothing and gear were like a second skin. It molded to them, accentuating the muscle that sculpted their body. Stood in front of their hallway mirror, they took in a breath, flexing their fingers as they pulled their gloves taut. The feeling of the leather around their hands was fond and familiar. A small smile warmed their face as they tucked their helmet under their arm, nodding once at their own reflection. “Allfather, be with me,” they said in quiet prayer. “Give me the strength to see the battle through, should such be my fate.”

Down the hall, Elliott emerged from the bedroom, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “Alright, Hound! The sun’s shining, the birds are chirping and the dropship’s waiting! You about ready to head out there and kick some – ”

He paused mid-stride when his eyes landed on Bloodhound. He had seen them suited up before – _many_ times. But, it had been so long. Seeing them battle-ready sent a shiver up his spine. They stood tall, their posture straight and dignified, their features calm and thoughtful. Their hair was fixed as per usual, half-up, half-down, with some tumbling freely past their shoulders and some twisted into delicate braids. They stole his breath. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed seeing them like this, dressed for battle, radiating a stunning combination of beauty, confidence and pride.

As he approached them, he put on a handsome smile, clicking his tongue admiringly. “Well…look at _you_ , babe,” he gushed, stepping behind them to draw his arms around their waist. He pressed a slow kiss to their temple. “You look _incredible_.”

Their face softened as they melted into his embrace. Humming gently, they smiled, resting their hands on his arms. “Thank you, _ástin mín_. I am blessed to make my return with you at my side.”

He beamed, tilting his face to look at them. “You saw the roster, too, huh? What’re the odds? Your first game back and they put us on the same team. I might’ve bribed one of the suits for that arrangement,” he joked with a wink. “Bet you didn’t know I had _that_ kind of leverage.”

A short laugh left them. “I would not be surprised. Whatever the odds for the coincidence, they are clearly in our favor,” they answered, turning their face to press their lips to his. “Let us head to the dropship. It will soon be time for departure.”

Elliott held them tighter, nudging his face into their collar. “Can’t we hang back a little bit longer? In a few minutes, I won’t have you to myself anymore.”

“Your wish is mine as well, but we cannot afford to be a moment late,” they stressed lovingly. Bloodhound remained in his arms as they rotated to face him. Their had found his jaw as they met his eyes. “We will have the evening together. Let us fight strong and return to one another unharmed. I wish for nothing more.”

Elliott agreed with a nod and a smile. “Consider your wish granted.”

He cradled their chin in his hand and thumbed over their lip before he leaned in for a kiss. This time, he let the kiss linger. He held them a little tighter. There was no slowing time. The moment they exited, Bloodhound would return to the world as a recovered Legend. Elliott _knew_ they would be fine. Nothing could _ever_ shake their resolve. He had never seen them fail or falter, even in the midst of war and adversity, and their recovery was a testament to that. Bloodhound pulled him from his thoughts when they slipped from the kiss, meeting his eyes with a small smile. As if they could read the conflict in his mind, their fingers caressed his cheek, whispering words of sweet reassurance.

En route to the dropship, the pair passed many of their fellow Legends, all of whom halted at the sight of the hunter dressed in their gear. Bloodhound saluted those they encountered, meeting many beaming smiles, lingering stares and disbelieving whispers as they boarded. They were a sight most had come to miss, and aboard the dropship, the reception was no different. Legends showered them with welcome. Thankful, Bloodhound dipped their head at every pat on the back, every cheer, every round of applause. Their heart swelled with gratitude for their brethren, grateful to find camaraderie as cherished as competition.

The warm welcome disbanded, but Ajay stayed behind. “Lookin’ good, Hound. It’s too bad we’re not on the same team this time ‘round,” she said with a smile. “Might spell trouble for ya. I won’t be right there to patch ya up, should ya need it. Try not to repeat history down there, will ya?”

Bloodhound smiled and nodded their head. “I have asked the Gods for strength. I pray I will not face the same fate,” they answered calmly, turning their head to Elliott. “Fortunately, I have good eyes watching me. They have not failed me yet.”

Feeling their glance, Elliott pointed a finger at himself. “Who? Me?” he let out a laugh, stepping to the hunter’s side. He slipped an arm around their shoulders, his face near to theirs as he flashed a beaming smile. “Anything for you, Hound. _I’ve_ got you, _you’ve_ got me and the _three_ of us’ve got this thing in the bag!” He paused to blink and search the space around them. “Speaking of which, who’s our third?”

“Over here, beautiful.”

Loba emerged, gliding from her quarters with an unhurried strut that commanded the room. The look on her face teetered between smug and confident, the clack of her six-inch heels halting when she reached her squadmates. “You can’t hurry beauty. A woman needs her time to doll up.”

“Elliott’s no stranger to takin’ his time in the mirror,” Ajay quipped, pivoting to walk away and let the team be. “Can never forget the time we nearly took off without ‘im.”

Elliott’s initial retort became lost in an unintelligible stammer. He tried to wear a look of conviction, despite the heat rising to his cheeks. “Th-That was _one_ time!” he called after her. “O-Or, maybe it was twice? D-Doesn’t matter.”

Loba rolled her eyes, failing to fight a smile. She turned her attention to Bloodhound. “What a pleasure to see you here again,” she addressed them, warmth in her voice. “It’s been too long. I was starting to worry.”

They accepted her kind words with a bow of their head. Behind their helmet, they smiled. “It is a pleasure to see you as well, Miss Andrade. I am eager to fight. Are you prepared to _slátra?”_

“A lady like me is _always_ ready,” she answered assuredly. “And you, Elliott? Better not have your head in the clouds like last time. Try not to daydream, hmm?”

He deepening flush betrayed his denial. “Wh-What? C’mon. I-I’m always ready, too. I-In fact, I was _born_ ready. Hah! Beat that.”

“Good,” Bloodhound said simply. “May the Allfather bless our fight.”

Together, the trio approached the launchpad and took their respective positions. Elliott immediately volunteered to be the Jump Master. Loba protested, insisting his intuition paled in comparison to hers. He set his hands on his hips and respectfully disagreed, engaging in a shameless, but mostly lighthearted banter that nearly brought the two Legends nose-to-nose.

Sighing shortly, Bloodhound stood between them and looked to either one, their stern eyes palpable even from behind their helmet. “Save your energy, _félagi_ fighters. We are brethren.” They returned to their post. “I will lead us to battle.” Before either Elliott or Loba could offer objection, they continued, “We will land in Fragment. The loot is bountiful and we will be blessed with a quick fight.”

Elliott gulped.

A hot drop. Their first game back.

The worry he had fought to suppress infiltrated his thoughts, making him momentarily doubt the decision to dive headfirst into the hornet’s nest. But, Bloodhound was capable of anything. He felt foolish doubting someone of their magnitude. As quickly as his worry emerged, it vanished. He willed it away, instead flashing a bright smile and a thumbs-up. “Hell yeah! I _love_ it, Hound! Your first day back and we’re droppin’ hot. That’s why _you_ , babe, are a badass.” He strapped on his goggles, bracing for the jump. “Fragment, I hope you’re ready, because here – we – come!”

In unison, they launched from the dropship. For Bloodhound, it was a familiar thrill. Adrenaline shot through them like fire as their descent continued. Around them, the dive trails of enemy squads striped the sky. Over the comms, Elliott cheered and spun through the air with one-of-a-kind flair. Loba also finessed her freefall, twirling her staff between her fingers before she mounted it sideways and crossed her legs. Following their lead, Bloodhound pulled off a mid-air front flip and let a snarl tear from their throat, eager to shed blood and slaughter.

Chaos ensued the moment the team’s boots touched the battle-worn ground. To Bloodhound’s favor, they spotted a weapon – a Hemlock, along with a couple of stacks of ammunition and a low-level magazine. Elliott landed in the same building, snatching up a white body shield and an RE-45. Finding a body shield as well, Loba acquired a P2020 hopped-up with Hammerpoint Rounds – a normally middle-of-the-road weapon, but, when modified, it was deadly enough to give her an advantage against less-favorably equipped enemies.

Despite not yet finding a body shield for themself, Bloodhound barreled out of the building and charged toward the sound of battle. Elliott and Loba stuck close to their side, the loudening boom of grenade detonations and the building percussion of gunfire prompting their feet to hit the ground faster. Bloodhound shouldered open a door and Elliott sent a decoy past the threshold. The enemy – holed up in a corner, wounded and jittery – fired immediately at the clone. It dissipated with a taunting laugh, revealing the true Legend in its place. Elliott opened fire, eliminating a hostile, while Bloodhound and Loba took care of the remaining two.

“Ha! Bamboozled!” Elliott cheered with a winning grin. “Anyone else want some?!”

The commotion enticed a nearby squad to advance. A grenade soared through the window and landed at their feet. Calling for everyone to take cover, Loba dove for the nearest shelter. Elliott did the same, pressing his back flush to the wall, his widened eyes searching for Bloodhound through the subsequent dust and debris. He spotted them – unharmed – though that shortly changed when the enemy barged into the room. They opened fire at Bloodhound who, still unequipped with shields, sustained immediate damage to their health. Over the comms, they grunted in pain, hurrying to brandish their weapon before the enemy could land another shot. Elliott rushed to help, pushing himself from the wall and lifting his pistol in preparation to fire – when both enemies dropped to the floor.

His eyes followed the bullets’ trajectory, settling on Bloodhound. The hunter lowered their weapon as they sat at the base of the wall, finding their breath through their discomfort. Elliott approached them, stepping over the bodies of their fallen opponents as he rummaged through his backpack. “Hold tight, Hound. I’ve got you. Let me patch you right up.”

His offer came without thinking. Having spent weeks caring for the homebound hunter, it had become natural, and being on the battlefield made no difference. Crouched at their side, he flipped open the lid of the med kit and draped their arm across his lap. Bloodhound warmed. The air within their helmet grew considerably thicker as they watched him, their efforts to calm their quickened breathing becoming futile. His unhesitant selflessness always made their heart flutter. Their lips curved into a kind smile they wished he could see, and despite the ever-present cameras capturing the moment between them, they could not be bothered to pull away.

“Thank you,” they whispered between catching their breath. “Perhaps it was unwise of me to engage without armor.”

“Are you kiddin’?” Elliott grinned, helping them to their feet. “The way I see it, we’re here and they’re not.”

After patching up, the team ransacked the surrounding deathboxes for better loot. Bloodhound nabbed a Triple Take as their secondary weapon along with a low-level sniper stock and sufficient ammunition. Loba found a Flatline and swapped her pistol for one that packed a bigger punch – a Wingman, complete with a suitable optic and magazine. Elliott ditched his RE-45, grabbing a much more powerful R-99 and Volt. He modified both of them with the items available – magazines, stocks, barrel stabilizers and optics, more than enough to sustain him through the next fight.

“You sure know how to make an appearance, beautiful,” Loba said through a smile.

Bloodhound mirrored her. “Thank you,” they said graciously. “I could not have done so without my _bræður_.”

There was little time to decompress. Battle erupted in their vicinity. Bloodhound turned on their heel and made a dash for the door, gesturing for Elliott and Loba to follow. They lifted their arm and tapped the device on their wrist, lighting up their team’s HUDs with the positions of six total hostiles.

Elliott’s eyes widened. His grip on his sub-machine gun tightened and he shot his teammates uneasy glances. “Y-You guys are seeing wh-what I’m seeing, right?”

“Six hostiles,” Bloodhound affirmed calmly. “Two squads. They are engaged.”

“R-Right. So…wh-why don’t we pull back? L-Let ‘em fight it out. W-We can just…y’know, rush the last team standing,” he proposed, looking desperately to either Legend for agreement. “Wh-What’do you say? Sound like a plan?”

“No,” Loba asserted. “We push _now_. Catch them off guard.”

Bloodhound gave a nod. “We will flank the nearest _andskoti_. _Vera vakandi_ , _félagi_ fighters. Stay alert.”

“On it, beautiful.”

With a flick of her wrist, Loba tossed her bracelet to an exposed floor of the building. Bloodhound followed the arc of her jump-drive trail, proceeding with caution into the building with Elliott at their side. Loba materialized from her teleport seconds before her squadmates ascended the stairs to her position, and together, the three of them climbed to the roof.

To their advantage, the enemy was distracted. A back-and-forth exchange of bullets persisted between them and another enemy team posted in the adjacent building, keeping them entirely unaware of the ambush until it was too late. Startled, the enemy spun, finding Bloodhound, Elliott and Loba stood at their flank with weapons readied. Gunfire erupted, and on by one, the hostiles fell – a swift, satisfying victory that they were left little time to celebrate.

The second team descended on their position. Bloodhound scanned upon hearing their quickly-approaching footsteps, recognizing the highlighted silhouettes on their HUD as those of Crypto, Octane and Pathfinder. The hacker deployed his drone and unleashed an EMP, zapping away the team’s shields. Seizing the opportunity, Octane threw a jump pad and bounded to the roof. Pathfinder joined him, propelling himself with a grapple. With no time to replenish their lost shields, the trio was forced to engage. Elliott deployed a number of decoys, disorienting the enemy. He ducked behind cover, gnawing worriedly on his lip as he prayed his band of clones would confuse the enemy long enough to buy him some time. He started to recharge his shields, urgently whispering for the shield battery to work faster.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he said under his breath.

In the corner of his HUD, Loba’s health depleted.

“Damnit! I’m down!”

Elliott swore under his breath, searching through his dissipating crowd of decoys for his team. He spotted Bloodhound ducked behind an open supply bin. “I’ll get her, Hound! Cover me, alright?!”

“Copy that,” they acknowledged, emerging from their cover to open fire.

With the enemy occupied, Loba managed to crawl to Elliott’s side. “I’ve got you, don’t worry,” he assured, activating his cloaking device to assist her while invisible. “And this time, it’s on the house.”

Out of his peripheral, he saw Bloodhound. The staccato crack of their Hemlock percussed the air. Their shots were clean and precise, tearing through the enemies’ shields and health with little damage sustained to their own. With first aid administered, Elliott helped Loba to her feet and dropped extra healing items. Bloodhound took a moment to reload, their eyes keen on finding the final hostile. A few seconds behind his team, Crypto scaled the building and made his way to the roof, appearing in front of the hunter as they slapped their reloaded magazine into their assault rifle. His ambush surprised them. He fired, luckily landing crucial shots to their torso. Seeing the attack, Elliott lifted his Volt and charged, quipping, “Alright, _old_ man! I think it’s about time for your nap in the respawn chamber.”

He laughed at his own joke as he pulled the trigger, dropping Crypto without unloading even half of his magazine. An uncommon silence resounded throughout the remnants of the devastated zone. Elliott reloaded and holstered his gun with flair, his smile beaming. “Woo! We _killed_ it, you guys! We’re on a roll!” he cheered, healing up. He turned bright eyes toward Not you trying to tear a page out of my book and pull a bamboozle?”

An amused huff left them. “I assure you, there was no trickery. We have fought strong thus far, _félagi_ fighters.” They paused. The blare of an alarm echoed throughout. They tipped their chin, listening. “But, we still have much left to face. The Ring moves. We must hurry.”

“ _After_ we shop,” Loba piped up, twirling her staff between her manicured fingers.

Elliott cocked an eyebrow. “ _Now?_ What about the Ring? Sure, it’s Round One, but that thing still hurts.”

“ _Priorities_ , beautiful,” she insisted, planting her staff firmly into the ground. “I will not leave such treasures to waste.”

Her Black Market opened with a twinkling chime and a resounding boom, its enticing glow and promise of good loot coaxing the team to sift through its contents. Spotting the Skullpiercer hop-up, Loba’s smile widened and she gladly added it to her Wingman. Otherwise satisfied with their current loadouts, everyone kept their weapons, using the Black Market to grab additional ammunition, healing items and higher-level modifications. As the hum of the Ring grew louder, Loba collapsed her Market and proceeded toward Harvester with her team.

The last to finish looting, Elliott tailed them. Naturally, his eyes fell on Bloodhound. He admired the fluidity of their movements as scaled the uneven terrain, the strength in their legs as they trudged uphill. A dumb smile pulled at his lips and he nearly tripped on his own two feet as his vision dazed with admiration. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to say he was proud, but the word “proud” didn’t quite cut it. He was _elated_ to see them back in their element, back in the arena, _thriving_.

The team headed for the center of Harvester. Ascending the ramps, the trio secured an excellent vantage point. Bloodhound surveyed the area through the scope of their sniper, following a trail of fresh bootprints in the earth and slide marks in the grass. A few moments passed before they froze, zeroing in on an approaching enemy team. They crouched, keeping their sights set. “Three _andskoti_. West of our location.”

“Heard that,” Elliott answered, squinting to better see their opponent. “What’s the move?”

Her back against the wall, Loba peered from behind cover and prepared to offer a response – when the enemy opened fire. A shot from a Longbow pierced Bloodhound in the shoulder. They grunted, but stood firm and paid no mind to the flicker of their shields. The Triple Take in their grasp recoiled with every pull of the trigger, sending a spread of projectiles in the enemies’ direction. The shots struck, breaking enemy shields, although the enemy Longbow was quick to retaliate. It hit them, not once, but twice, breaking through their remaining armor. Again, they grunted, pain evident in their voice as they dashed out of eyeshot.

Elliott’s eyes followed them, panic brewing as they vanished from view. “Hound?! Hound, you alright?!”

The hunter offered no response. Elliott opened his mouth to call for them again, but found his question replaced with a curse. The enemy would not let up. Their gunfire persisted and loudened as they advanced. Driven out of cover, Elliott and Loba returned fire, their body shields blinking with every rival shot that hit them. Loba gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, switching between her Wingman and Flatline with fluid ease. Elliott deployed a decoy, fooling their opponents long enough to dip aside and use a shield cell or two.

“We’ll be cooked if we don’t reposition,” Loba insisted, flicking her eyes from the field to Elliott. “Where’s Bloodhound?”

He kept the hostiles at bay with his Volt, quickly shooting his eyes over his shoulder. Worried settled deep in the pit of his stomach. Over a minute had passed since he had last seen them, a relatively lengthy amount of time in the context of battle. Elliott checked his HUD, relieved to find that their vitals were stable. But, their map position had not changed. They weren’t moving. Were they in danger? Were they in pain? Had they been ambushed? Cornered?

An animalistic cry pierced the air.

Loba and Elliott spun.

They waited, eyes wide, breath bated.

Bloodhound broke from concealment, propelling forward with incomprehensible speed. The hunter passed their squad in a blur, their goggles alit in a menacing, bloodthirsty glow. The enemy quaked as Bloodhound closed in on them, calling out desperately to one another for a synchronized open fire. Bullets sprayed from their weapons, but Bloodhound dodged them with swiftness. They advanced, taking out the enemy with on-point, three-round rifle bursts and up-close, execution-style sniper shots. Elliott lowered his gun – enamored, awestruck. They were incredible. Their prowess was undefinable, undeniable. No Legend fought like Bloodhound, and he was certain no Legend ever would. Their heavy, gravely breaths filled his ears. He marveled the thrilling, yet respective brutality of their kills, the splatter of blood against their gear, the fluid grace and focused alertness of their movements. Every motion had its purpose. They wasted no energy or time, swiftly rendering the entire enemy squad dead at their feet.

Stood amongst the carnage, Bloodhound lowered their weapon. The red haze that vignetted their field of vision faded. Their goggles lost their crimson hue. Silence resounded, save for the sound of the hunter fighting to steady their quickened breaths. Elliott left Loba’s side to approach them. He had heard those strained breaths more times than he could remember. Fearing overexertion, Elliott set a hand against the small of their back to calm and steady them. “Hound,” he murmured, his voice tender. “You alright?”

Swallowing, they nodded. “Y-Yes. I…only need a moment.”

Relieved, Elliott smiled. “’Course. Take as long as you need. Ring’s not closin’ just yet.” He paused, unashamedly pressing a kiss to the side of their helmet. “You are _incredible_ , babe. I can’t believe you pulled that off. I-I mean, not like I ever doubted you could, because, trust me, I _know_ you can, but…your first day back in the Ring and you’re already singlehandedly takin’ out squads? Th-That’s unheard of.”

“My strength is not of my own, but of the Allfather,” they whispered between breaths. “I am grateful.”

His smile widened. “Whatever happens today, win or lose, I am _so_ proud of you.”

Bloodhound turned their head toward him, a smile clear in their voice. “Thank you, my love.”

“Oh, lovebirds. How endearing,” Loba said as she parted with the scattered loot to join them. “You make it look so _easy_ , beautiful. Next time, try to leave a few of them for us to play with, hmm? It’s only polite to share.”

Their smile widened. “You have my word, Miss Andrade. Thankfully, there are many _andskoti_ left to _slátra_.”

With a pleased smile, Loba set up her Black Market in the midst of the aftermath, producing a bountiful inventory of tactical supplies. The team took full advantage of the rich bounty at their disposal, fully kitting their weapons with the greatest items available. By the time all finished looting, the adrenaline from the previous battle had mostly subsided. Much to Elliott’s relief, Bloodhound had managed to calm their winded breaths. As Loba collapsed her Market and stepped aside to scout the surrounding area, Elliott gave the hunter a wink and a smile, which they acknowledged with a knowing nod of their head.

Five squads remained.

The trio continued to Thermal Station, riding the zipline to post up on the zone’s eastern edge. Like before, the alarm echoed throughout the arena, signaling the closure of the second Ring. Bloodhound knelt with their sniper poised, scouting over pools of bubbling lava, scattered structures and bits of broken earth. They paused upon spotting an enemy squad at the base of the center construct, blissfully unaware as they searched through supply bins. Seizing the opportunity to strike, Bloodhound opened fire, landing a critical shot on a hostile. Immediately, the enemy reciprocated, answering the hunter’s sniper shots with their own. The electrified crack of a charged Sentinel cracked the air and zipped by Bloodhound, missing them by a fraction of an inch. Fearless, the hunter fired again, their eyes narrowed behind their goggles as they focused on returning fire.

Elliott peeked from behind cover, panickedly searching for the shooter. “Whoever that is, they’re a damn good shot.”

“Gibraltar,” Bloodhound answered calmly, firing again. “Revenant and Caustic fight alongside him.”

“I knew it. I can recognize the _demonio_ anywhere,” Loba added through gritted teeth. “Even from here.”

As Bloodhound continued to fire, Elliott joined in, aiming down the sights of his Volt in hopes of landing a lucky shot. He beamed when he hit someone, looking to either teammate for praise, though another shot from the enemy Sentinel wiped the smile from his face. It hit him, penetrating and decimating the entirety of his shields. He cursed as he knelt, scrambling for a battery. The enemy pushed. Fast-approaching footsteps pitter-pattered against the ground, and the sound of a nearby zipline told the team that the enemy was close.

Elliott’s brow creased with worry, his nervous eyes flitting desperately between his squadmates. “Uh, a plan? Anyone got a plan? Please tell me someone’s got a plan.”

“Here’s one. Shut up and shoot,” Loba said curtly, landing crisp pistol shots in quick succession. Her accuracy swiftly earned her a downed enemy. “Gibraltar down. Focus the other two. Quickly, before they gain on us.”

Discarding the shell of his drained shield battery, Elliott stood, aimed and fired. The shots from his Volt were precise and locked-on, tracking the opponents’ strafing movements and nimble sidesteps. He focused on Revenant, shredding through a significant chunk of his shields, although not even that could dissuade that bloodthirsty simulacrum. Revenant charged, bounding toward Elliott with the intent of eliminating him in a much-preferred, up-close-and-personal fight to the death. Bloodhound heard the rapid, metallic footfall of the gaining simulacrum. They readied to engage, tapping a sequence of inputs on the device on their wrist in preparation to activate the Beast of the Hunt.

They were halted.

One of Revenant’s silencers arched through the air and hit them, bursting opening with an ominous hiss. Robbed of their abilities, the device on their wrist flickered and malfunctioned, forcing them to fight without the aid of their equipment. Their head shot in the simulacrum’s direction, their grip on their brandished Hemlock tensing, the look in their narrowed eyes sharpening. With a grunt, the hunter propelled forward with Elliott at the forefront of their mind –

When a plume of noxious gas engulfed them. 

Bloodhound collapsed to a knee. Their assault rifle slipped from their hands, falling with a tumble and a thud to the ground in front of them. Their gloved hand gripped the front of their jacket as an immediate burn flooded their lungs, stealing their breath and shallowing the heaves of their chest. Coughs erupted from their throat, racking their hunched, quaking body, worsening the pain already spreading like fire through their chest. The sounds of their struggle mingled with Loba’s own. They turned their head, spotting her slumped silhouette through misty eyes and obscured vision. Between their wheezed breaths, the hunter tried to call out for her – for Elliott – but found their voice too weak to be heard.

Elliott watched in horror. Murkiness shrouded his teammates in noxious fumes. Their anguish blared through his earpiece, deepening the cracks in his heart with every gasp for air, every struggle for breath. He heard Bloodhound attempt to say his name, but instead, a pained groan dipped into a pleading whine as the caustic vapors ravaged their lungs. He whispered for them, worry heavy in his hazel eyes as he searched the fumes for any sign of vitality, neglecting the approaching simulacrum until his spindly claws were wrapped tightly around his throat.

It was immediate déjà vu. The unrelenting vise of Revenant’s grip reminded him of the time they battled on the rooftop of King’s Canyon’s Market. That day, had it not been for the efforts of his team, he surely would have met his demise right then and there, in the clutches of the bloodthirsty simulacrum. That day, he had survived by the skin of his teeth, and he only hoped his good luck had not yet run out.

Startled by Revenant’s ambush, Elliott deployed an army of duplicates with some hope of duping his foe, but he was too slow. He was caught in metallic clutches. His grasp suffocated him, killing his words in his throat. As the simulacrum pulled him near, he dug his heels in the earth and pried at the fingers around his neck in a desperate, but futile attempt to escape. The laugh that left Revenant chilled him. His suffering clearly amused him, and despite his inability to smile, the twisted glint of pleasure in his piercing, robotic eyes made his delight clear.

“You shut up when you’re snared. I love it,” he growled. “I could get used to this.”

Elliott tried to betray the fear on his face, narrowing his eyes. He made a reach for the R-99 strapped to his back. It was a bold move. It was doomed to fail, but he _had_ to escape to his team, to _Bloodhound_. Revenant recognized his attempt before his fingers even found the grip of his weapon. His other hand shot forward, seizing Elliott’s wrist with enough force to bruise his skin. His patience worn, Revenant threw Elliott to the ground and stood over him, watching him writhe against the ground while he panted for air. The trickster quieted as the simulacrum brandished a Devotion, its quickening, high-pitched wind-up promising to deliver a white hot demise.

“If I only I could spend _all day_ watching you squirm,” he snarled as he took a step closer. “Pity. At least I can watch you _die_.”

Elliott refused to offer the simulacrum any last words. He instead turned his head aside, his hazel eyes drawn wide as he searched the dissipating plume for his squad. His heart twisted at the thought of meeting his end before knowing their fate. Was it already too late? Had they suffered? Had it been a slow, tortured death? The nudge of a nozzle against his chest pulled him from his thoughts. Elliott met the eyes of who he was certain would be his killer, swallowing the bitter pill of the reality he faced.

From a perch at Revenant’s flank, a Triple Take fired.

The choked spread of projectiles penetrated the simulacrum’s skull, dropping him and the weapon he wielded. Speechless, Elliott searched for the shooter, convinced for a moment of panic that another enemy squad had accosted him.

“Be calm, _ástvinur_. I have you.”

The voice in his ear was instantly familiar.

He beamed, brimming with relief. “Hound.”

A few yards away, the hunter dismounted from their perch and approached him with haste. They shouldered their sniper and knelt at his side, touching him with a gentle hand. “Elliott,” they murmured, their voice weakened from the noxious fumes that had flooded their lungs. Their helmet twitched as they looked him over, scanning him for injury. “Are you alright? Can you stand?”

Feigning nonchalance, he waved a hand. “Yeah. Oh, yeah. Nothing I haven’t been through once before already,” he answered with a fatigued laugh. “Lucky for me, Mister Murder Bot was in a ‘draw things out and be dramatic’ mood. Bought me the time I needed.” He propped himself onto an elbow and pushed upright, tipping his head to one side to expose the marks on his neck. “How’s it look?”

Worriedly, Bloodhound clicked their tongue, touching lightly over his bruised skin. “It is… not fatal. I cannot mend this now,” they told him, disappointment in their tone. “It will have to wait until the match’s end.”

“I’ll try to manage,” Elliott teased with a wink, his smile dimming as he gave them a worried once-over. “Forget about me, Hound. Are you alright? Honestly. That didn’t sound…good back there. I kept thinking about you and your…your health, an-and I just wanted to get over to you _so_ bad, but – ”

A shake of their head quieted him. “Do not worry,” they murmured assuredly. “I will be fine.”

A low, rumbling growl alerted them. The hunter’s head flicked aside as they stood with a wielded rifle, their muzzle aimed for the simulacrum who had not yet perished. Teetering between life and death, Revenant attempted to drag himself toward his dropped Devotion – only to have a bullet to the temple grant his demise. Bloodhound turned their head to the shooter – Loba. The single bullet casing tumbled to the earth with a quiet clang and she holstered her pistol with an elegant flair. “Thank you for leaving the _demonio_ for me, beautiful,” she said with a smile. “I do _love_ putting a bullet through his head.”

Bloodhound gave her a nod. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Andrade. The Allfather has blessed us to see another fight. May our good fortune continue.”

“You can say that again,” Elliott answered, grunting in his effort to stand. Bloodhound faced him with an outstretched hand. He accepted it with a smile. “Full disclosure? I didn’t think any of us were getting out of there in one piece. Everything about that fight spelled ‘trouble’ with a capital ‘T.’”

“Don’t jinx us,” Loba added, her smile teasing. She turned with a spin of her stiletto, gesturing for her team to follow. “Let’s move, lovelies. The Ring is a cruel mistress.”

Elliott let out a breath and nodded, mentally readying himself for the inevitable conflict that lie ahead. He started to follow her, dusting the dirt from his clothes and hair with a displeased twist of his lip. Bloodhound approached his side, offering an unspoken helping hand as they brushed bits of earth from his suit. Turning his head, he flashed them a thankful smile. “Appreciate it, babe. Gotta look my best for the world’s best Legend,” he winked.

They smiled under their mask, answering his levity with a more serious tone. “Should we meet trouble again, I will come for you,” they said, genuine and kind. “Have no fear. I will be there, always, as you have been for me.”

Touched, Elliott felt his heart warm. His smile widened, his expression soft as he slipped their hand into his. “Couldn’t dream of anything better,” he said lowly, giving their hand a tender squeeze. “I’m holding you to that, Hound.”

“A promise made is a promise kept,” they said sincerely, threading their fingers together. “I will not fail you, _kærasti.”_


	14. A Promise Kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made it to the end. <3
> 
> Ugh, writing and editing this final chapter was bittersweet for me. I have had the greatest time with this fic. Every chapter has been a joy to write. I am so grateful to have received the kindest comments. I take each and every one of them to heart. :) 
> 
> I hope all of you have enjoyed the ride! Enjoy this last chapter and please let me know what you think about it, and the story as a whole. <3

Four squads remained.

The alarm tolled, prompting the team to make quick work of looting the enemy deathboxes. With their supplies restocked, their shields recharged and their health restored, they proceeded further into Thermal Station with confidence. One by one, they rode the ziplines toward the center, their senses on high alert. The edge of the next Ring was only a few yards away, and seemingly uncontested, though their odds changed the moment they crossed the glowing threshold.

An enemy team had already secured the area. Gatekeeping, they opened fire, the onslaught of bullets tearing through the trio’s recently-replenished shields. Bloodhound received the brunt of the attack. Behind their helmet, they winced, but remained firm and focused, lifting their Hemlock to return fire. To their detriment, the incoming assault proved superior. They buckled, yielding to the unexpected force of the ambush as they crumbled toward the ground with a stifled groan.

Loba kept the hostiles at bay, pulling the trigger of her Flatline to unload her magazine. “Damnit,” she swore, vengeance sharp in her eyes as she looked toward the downed hunter. “Bloodhound!”

A familiar dread seized Elliott. He clicked into autopilot, strafing and returning fire despite his widened eyes being glued to Bloodhound. To his relief, they writhed, but their movements were pained and achingly slow. He needed to reach them before they bled out and succumbed to their wounds.

He propelled forward. R-99 brandished, and mowed down a hostile with smooth, satisfying ease. The remaining hostiles’ attention darted between him and Loba. They closed in, hoping to overwhelm and eliminate both of them, but, with a smile on his face, Elliott vanished under the cloak of his holo-tech and re-appeared in the middle of a swarm of decoys. Disoriented, the enemy frantically searched for the real Legend, their frustration building as their bullets penetrated the thin air instead of flesh and bone. As if by magic, Elliott appeared at their flank, grinning from ear to ear at his successful bamboozle.

From their position on the ground, Bloodhound watched as their squad triumphed. As either hostile fell to the ground in a boneless heap, Elliott stood proud and beaming. A nearby camera had captured the impressive play, its lens zooming and focusing on the grinning trickster. A darling of the media through-and-through, Elliott played to his namesake, gracing the audience with a charming wink and his signature smile. Stood at his side, Loba feigned annoyance with a roll of her eyes, her smile small as she graciously gave him the limelight.

Despite the dull ache of their wounds, Bloodhound felt their lips twitch into a smile. Their chest fluttered with pride and delight as it always did whenever they watched Elliott in his element, and knowing he had saved them from likely elimination made their heart swell.

Leaving Elliott, Loba hurried to their aid, unhesitantly administering the sharp prick of a first aid shot directly into their chest before they could bleed out. The concoction worked instantly. They coughed and gasped, shakily filling their chest with air. Taking her offered hand, they sat upright. Loba watched them, worry etched into her kind face. “Easy, beautiful. Is that better?”

They nodded. “Yes, _vinur minn_. Thank you.”

She smiled warmly before shooting Elliott a look. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more in love with yourself,” she chided him. “Are you going to stand there and pose all day?”

Elliott paused mid-pose, meeting her eyes with a smirk. “No, but I could,” he answered with undeniable charm, turning from the camera to approach his team. “Wanna make a bet?”

“I don’t make bets I can’t win,” she said knowingly, standing. “Do us all a favor and get over here.”

He made a face at her as he quickened his trot, taking her place at Bloodhound’s side. Concern replaced the jest in his face as he looked at them. His hand was light as it rested on top of their own, his smile tender and a little apologetic. “Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly, nodding to where the camera previously hovered. “Mirage is a bit of a ham.”

Amused, Bloodhound huffed. “It is no matter, _elskan_ , and it is no surprise. You are here now.”

The widening of his smile paused as he lowered and shook his head. “…I saw them coming for you. I didn’t think twice. No way in Hell was I going to let them get to you.” In thought, his eyes drifted aside, pausing on a small, blood-soaked patch of their clothing. His brow creased. “Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

Sensing his disappointment, they shook their head. “ _Nei_. It is minor. Miss Andrade tended to my wounds.” They gave his hand a squeeze, prompting him to look up to where their eyes would be. “Do not be disheartened. Your gift of wit has won us this fight. Be proud.”

His heart swelled at their words. They spoke so sincerely, so lovingly. His concerned frown lifted into a soft smile, and he returned the hand squeeze, running his thumb against the back of their palm. “I love you,” he answered simply, sweetly, lifting to his feet with an outstretched hand. “What’do you say – time to win this thing?”

Bloodhound smiled, accepting his hand with a nod. “Yes, my love. Victory is neigh.”

With a few seconds to spare before Ring closure, Elliott and Bloodhound joined Loba in rifling through enemy deathboxes, replenishing their supplies. Two enemy squads stood between them and victory. With such little opposition left, the end of the match was imminent. They were ready – _eager_ – to face the remaining foe, but knew better than to expect the match’s end to be an easy one. The Ring would only grow smaller. Battle would only grow closer and fiercer. The final fight would likely be a toe-to-toe standoff for the title of Apex Champion, because rarely was victory earned in the Ring without challenge.

Ring closure commenced promptly after the blare of the alarm. Loba led her squadmates to the zone’s eastern edge, where a cluster of constructs sat seemingly unattended. Bloodhound activated the device on their wrist, bathing the buildings in a brief blanket of orange as their sonar pinged. Zero hostiles appeared on the team’s HUD, and the hunter gestured for them to safely proceed.

Loba selected the nearest construct, passing the threshold with a side-to-side sweep of her head. “Hm. A little drab, but it will do,” she joked.

Bloodhound chuckled. “We will fair best here, Miss Andrade. The _andskoti_ cannot easily find us.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Elliott entered last. An indiscernible unease made him tense as he closed the door behind him, his worried eyes flitting around the room. “Y-Yeah. About that. Call me ‘paranoid,’ but…anyone else feelin’…watched?”

Loba cocked an eyebrow. “Watched?”

He nodded, swallowing an uneasy lump in his throat. “Y-Yeah. Watched. Y-Y’know, like someone – some _where_ – has a sight on us? Call it a hunch, or maybe it’s the end-of-the-match jitters, but… I’m _definitely_ feelin’ eyes on me.”

She made a face. “You _always_ want eyes on you, beautiful. Are you sure this is a hunch?”

Bloodhound turned their head to the window, pondering the validity of Elliott’s gut feeling. They crouched, sniper-scouting through the barred pane. The voices of their brethren faded into the passing breeze as they focused, searching with practiced vigilance for any sign or semblance of enemy activity. The longer the eerie quiet of the arena lingered, the greater their own suspicion grew. The air felt too still. It was an unusual calm, especially for a match nearing its end.

Then, they heard it.

The faintest shuffle. Due west.

They held up their fist, quieting their team. Their head remained still while their eyes flicked aside, keen, focused, searching for the source of the noise. As quickly as the sound had appeared, it vanished. Silence permeated the air, thick and lingering.

The all-too-familiar crack of a Kraber shattered the quiet.

The projectile soared between the bars of the window, grazing the leg of the hunter crouched in front of it. Swiftly retreating, Bloodhound hissed in pain, escaping the sniper’s eyeshot and pressing their back against the adjacent wall. Adrenaline dulled their initial ache. Frozen, they tightened their grip on their weapon, passing quicker, shallower breaths. The sound of the Kraber alone had instantly flooded their mind with unwanted memories of the incident that had homebound them for weeks. They remembered the uncertainty, the helplessness, the _pain_ – hot, searing, breath-stealing.

And, _again_ , they had nearly met the same fate.

Momentarily jarred, Elliott looked in astonishment at the mark the Kraber projectile had left on the floor. He blinked, his attention immediately shifting to the hunter pressed flush against the wall. He didn’t need to see their face to recognize their disquiet – their shoulders tense, their chest fluttering, their head turned toward the window as if fearing a second shot. Hurrying to their aid, Elliott sent a decoy in front of the window, settling by the hunter’s side in time to watch his holo-duplicate dissipate beneath the power of another Kraber shot.

“Hey,” he whispered, concern etched in his face as he set a hand against their arm. “I’m here. You alright?”

Bloodhound looked to him. They made an attempt to answer him, but instead caught their words on the lump in their throat. Quietly, they coughed and swallowed their fright, nodding their head. “Yes. I’m fine, Elliott. I’m fine,” they said shortly, repeating their words as if the reiteration would convince both Elliott and themself. They shifted, examining their leg. “The bullet only grazed. It did not puncture.”

The concern in Elliott’s face deepened when he followed their gaze. Like they had described, the bullet had not punctured, but it had dealt enough damage to leave a mark. His brow knitted when he spotted a wound on their thigh, a thin trickle of blood running down the curve of their leg. Immediately, his heart seized. He scrambled for the scarf around his neck as he shook his head in denial, in dread. “N-No, no, Hound. No, no, no,” he muttered, gingerly pressing the fabric against their wound to slow the bleeding. “You’re not bleeding out on me this time. _No_ way. Not a chance.” He shot his eyes over his shoulder, meeting Loba’s with urgency. “C-Can you spare a med kit? My h-hands are a l-little occupied.”

The pressure against their leg made them wince. They shook their head. “It is nothing. I can press on.”

“I’m not chancing it, babe,” he answered right away. “Just give me two minutes and a syringe. I’ll have you back on your feet and battle ready before you can say –”

The booming detonation of a grenade silenced him. It was outside, far enough not to pose an immediate threat, but near enough to rattle the building. Elliott flinched, turning away from the window to evade a potential hailstorm of shrapnel. The subsequent ringing in his ears slowly dissipated, giving way to a firefight occurring beyond the walls of the construct that sheltered them. Assuming they were safe, Elliott peeked open an eye and searched the space around him, letting out a held breath of relief. “Alright,” he exhaled. “Perfect. They’re fighting each other. That should buy us some time.”

“Yes, but not much,” Loba answered, handing him the previously requested med kit. “Patch them up. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Elliott nodded, popping the hinges of the med kit. Bloodhound offered no protest as they watched him, following the focused and careful movements on his hands as he peeled his scarf from their thigh and proceeded to clean their wound. The bite of the cleaning solution made them clench their jaw. They sat straighter, their tensed posture giving Elliott notice to their quiet discomfort. He apologized in a whisper, finishing up by neatly dressing their wound and administering a quick syringe shot for good measure.

“That oughtta do it,” he told them, lifting his eyes with a hopeful smile. “Not bad for a patch-up on the fly, huh? Watch out, Ajay. _This_ guy’s about to give you a run for your money.”

Bloodhound smiled. “Thank you, Elliott, for again coming to my aid. I do not mean to be a burden.”

Elliott made a face. “You? A burden? C’mon. Do you know how many times you’ve come to _my_ rescue? I can’t even count ‘em all. If anyone’s a burden, it’s me.” He paused, laughing a little. “Besides, what’s a day in the Games without a bruise or two?”

Their hand briefly found his. “Your selfless heart has always been a cherished attribute,” they said softly. “And a favorite of mine.”

Elliott softened. He managed to slip into a trance, despite the ensuing battle outside. He gazed over the front of their helmet with honeyed eyes, his fingers twitching at the urge to slip their mask aside, cradle their jaw and guide them into a kiss. The approaching clack of Loba’s heels pulled him back to the present. He blinked from his daze, dipping his head to hopefully hide the heat that had risen to his cheeks.

“Oh, you two,” she smirked. “As much as I _adore_ a good love story, time is of the essence.”

Elliott pushed his fingers through his hair, his smile sheepish. “R-Right! Time is…time is, uh…wh-what she said.”

With a knowing smile, Loba brought down her staff with a sharp thrust of her hand. “There are many treasures being left out there. Grab what you need and let’s go join the fun.”

Agreeing, Elliott offered Bloodhound a hand. They accepted, pressing a hand flat against the wall to lift carefully to their feet. Glancing downward, they flexed and bent their leg, finding the dressing perfectly taut.

Pleased, they joined their team at the Black Market, swapping their Hemlock for a Prowler. The weapon materialized in their hand. They rotated and admired it, stretching their fingers against the polished barrel. Elliott decided to hold on to his loadout, re-stocking his inventory with ammunition, first-aid kits, cells and batteries. Loba, too, kept the same, ensuring her teammates had everything they needed before she closed her Market and holstered with pistol with a smile. “Now, shall we?”

They gave her a solid, affirming nod. “We must move. The _andskoti_ know where we hide.”

Shouldering open the door, Bloodhound assessed the fight ahead. Bullets whizzed and whined around them, ricocheting off of the construct they had previously taken shelter in. Neither enemy squad saw them emerge, preoccupied with one another. The trio used the opposition’s distraction to their advantage. Boldly, Bloodhound raised their sniper rifle and aimed for a single hostile hunkered nervously behind a crate. They took the shot, sending a choked spread of projectiles through the unsuspecting enemy’s head.

Bloodhound dipped behind cover, reloading. “I downed a hostile.”

“Nice goin’, Hound,” Elliott beamed. “One down, two to go. I’m no tactical genius, but I’d say now’s as good a time as any. Three of us versus two of them? No brainer.”

They nodded. “To battle, _félagi_ fighters. This is our chance.”

“Lovely idea,” Loba smiled, tossing her bracelet with a flick of her wrist. “Ladies first.” 

While their ambush was not entirely unexpected, its aggression was. The trio was sharp and focused, targeting and eliminating another hostile within seconds. The final hostile nearly trembled under the weight of the odds stacked against them. Their chance for survival was slim, but they refused to be eliminated without a fight. Swiftly, they took aim and fired at Loba with a dead-on Mastiff blast, breaking her shields. Before they could take a second shot, Elliott squeezed the trigger of his R-99, mowing through their remaining health.

One squad remained.

Loba gritted her teeth and pressed her back against a crate. “Damnit. That hurt.”

Bloodhound lowered their weapon, reaching into their backpack to produce a med kit. “Take this and heal quickly, Andrade fighter, before we meet our final foe.”

And, as if one cue, they appeared.

Stood on the roof of the adjacent construct, Anita, Rampart and Renee peered down at their opposition. The smile on the soldier’s face tread the line between confident and cocky, her G-7 Scout slung loosely over her shoulder. Rampart cocked an eyebrow, blowing and popping a piece of bubblegum as she nonchalantly fussed with her ponytail. Renee stood braced to act on a moment’s notice, her icy eyes bright and piercing, her expression keen and attentive.

Anita took a small step forward, letting out a laugh as she shook her head. “I’ll be damned. You made it,” she teased, her attention specifically fixed on Bloodhound. “It’s too bad the road’ll end here. I’m glad you’re back and everything, but I’m not handin’ over my win.”

“An honorable assertion,” Bloodhound said calmly. “I would expect no different from a _ríkr_ fighter. Victory must be earned, not given. Expect a true fight.”

“A true fight? You sure about that, mate? Might want to think that one over real quick,” Rampart chimed in, nudging Anita with her hip. “A little earlier, you damn near took their leg off with that Kraber, yeah? I don’t know about you, but if the tides were turned, I’d be throwin’ in the towel.”

“Damn right,” Anita answered smoothly, raising an eyebrow at Bloodhound. “Almost. But, I _didn’t_ miss a few weeks ago. In the Swamps. Right?”

The hunter paused, steadying their breath with a gulp. Intimidation did not faze someone of their resolve. It was the memory – the disappointment, the frustration, the pain – that gripped them. Elliott observed them out of the corner of his eyes. Their unease was subtle, but recognizable to someone like him who had come to understand even their slightest mannerisms.

Putting on an unamused face, he strutted forward with one hand on his hip and one arm drawn around Bloodhound’s shoulders. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Kraber, Shmaber. News flash for ya? Hound is a _survivor,_ alright? You couldn’t take them out the _last_ time, you couldn’t take them out a few _minutes_ ago, and you’re not going to take them out _now_. Deal with it.”

Anita smirked, looking from Elliott to Bloodhound and back again. “You’re right. So, why don’t I try my hand at you this time, hot shot?” She lifted her Kraber, her sights set on him. “This time, I _won’t_ miss.”

He paled, his confidence vanishing the second he found himself faced with the barrel of her high-powered sniper. Without hesitation, Bloodhound stepped in front of him. They mirrored Anita, raising their own weapon, tracking each of her subtle movements through their scope. “We will fight with dignity. There is no pride in petty feud.”

Loba stepped beside Bloodhound, planting her hands on her hips. “They’re right, Anita. Enough talk. Let’s fight like Legends. It’s only formality.”

“Hm. You’re right,” Anita seemed to muse, before shifting her sights to Loba. “ _Or_ …maybe I should just take you out instead, right where you stand.”

“Enough,” Renee chimed in, her voice firm, but level. She looked to either member of her team. “This is pointless. We make our move now or never.”

“Right you are, mate,” Rampart agreed. “Better get crackin’ before the sun goes down. Don’t know about you guys, but I’m not dyin’ to spend the night in World’s Edge” With a pop of her gum, she deployed an amped wall and set her mounted machine gun behind it. Its gears wound up with a high-pitched whir, foreshadowing imminent danger. “Wake up, Sheila! It’s time to dance!”

Elliott’s eyes widened. The minigun’s laser sight turned and settled at the center of his chest, and before he could even comprehend his next move, Bloodhound pulled him and Loba behind cover. The roar of the machine gun was deafening. A flurry of bullet casings burst from the minigun’s ejection chamber, tumbling down the shingles of the roof, raining over their position.

Loba twisted her mouth into a frown as she searched for an out. She teleported with a toss of her bracelet to another spot out of Rampart’s eyeshot. Setting up shop, she rifled through her Black Market for an adequate weapon to better counter her competitor. With a delighted smile, she found and nabbed a Longbow, a mid-range optic and plenty of ammunition. She wielded it confidently as she stepped from behind her cover, aiming and firing at the cackling mechanic sat behind the spitting machine gun.

Holed up with Bloodhound, Elliott kept his stance low and out of Rampart’s field of vision. He sent out a decoy in hopes of re-directing her gunfire, but his hope shattered when Anita obliterated the clone with a shot from her Kraber. “Nice try, wise guy!” she called from the roof. “That’s all you’ve got, huh? Get out from behind there and let’s go toe-to-toe!”

He exhaled a curse, pressing his back against the crate they hid behind. “Well, we’re screwed. No, we’re worse than screwed. We’re dead.”

Bloodhound calmly disagreed. “The battle is not yet over.”

“I don’t know, Hound. It might as well be,” he started to gripe, although the hunter’s palpable stare kept him from grumbling further. He closed his eyes, drumming his fingers against his weapon as he grasped for an idea. “Okay. Alright. New plan. I’m takin’ her out.”

They nodded. “Yes, but it is too dangerous to face alone. I will help you.”

Elliott mirrored their nod and thanked them with a smile. His attention returned to the battlefield. Veiled by the clever cloak of his slight-of-hand, he made a daring dash for Loba’s position. Duplicates of the trickster appeared in his place, each of them scurrying in different directions in a maddening act of confusion. The enemy team opened fire, desperate to identify and eliminate the real Elliott who – unbeknownst to them – had stepped out of sight.

Stood in front of Loba’s Black Market, he swapped his R-99 for a G-7 Scout, equipping the rifle with a mid-range sight and all of the high-level attachments he had previously fitted to his sub-machine gun. Before all of his decoys could be eliminated, he made a sprint back to Bloodhound’s side. The hunter pivoted from behind cover, firing at Rampart’s amped wall with their Triple Take. Elliott accompanied them, landing shots whenever the moment was opportune. From her position close by, Loba kept both Anita and Renee distracted. She commanded their focus, answering their bullets with accuracy and precision. The gunfire persisted back and forth, with neither team willing to surrender their position.

Then, an all-familiar toll.

Elliott withdrew from the gunfight for a moment to reload, his widened eyes darting as the walls of the Ring started to enclose further around them. This late into the match, the Ring was already small. The ominous drone of its glowing bounds grew louder as it encircled, making its even smaller size that much more apparent. There would be little room to navigate and even less room to maneuver. This _had_ to be it. A winner would soon be declared, and when the Ring boomed to a halt and the next round’s bell chimed, that reality seemed all the more likely.

The sky opened up before they could make their move. A rainfall of missiles barraged them, embedding in the earth with enough force to shake the battlefield. Bloodhound braced, their eyes flitting. Sensing the bombardment’s imminent detonation, they snatched Elliott’s sleeve and pulled him along as they ran for shelter. Seeing her team flee, Loba followed. The three of them scrambled into the nearest building, suffering both shield and health damage as the artillery strike nearly bested them. Huddled in the corner, they healed, listening as the rolling boom of the barrage gradually decrescendoed into an eerie, but short-lived silence.

Outside, a portal opened, an unmistakable sound. Hastened footsteps followed – the enemy, on approach. Bloodhound straightened. They reached for their weapon, anticipating the hostiles to burst through the doorway and open fire. Instead, the enemy ascended, climbing up to the roof of the building Bloodhound and their team had decided to hide in.

“Great. Just great. Guess they aren’t in a rush,” Elliott sighed. “Is it too much to ask for them to get down here and battle it out? Cut to the chase and crown someone the champion already?”

“They wish to draw us to them,” Bloodhound answered, “or let us die by the Ring.”

He twisted his lip. “I’m not lovin’ these options.”

“Well, I’ve never been one to shy away from getting close and personal,” Loba added, her smile sly. “If they want a fight, let’s give them a fight.”

“ _Rétt_ , Miss Andrade,” they concurred, activating the device on their wrist. “Bless the Allfather.”

Sanguine red flooded their goggles. The vibrance of their HUD grew suddenly monochromatic, save for the highlighted trail of enemy bootsteps scattered beyond the door. Like a true predator, the hunter vaulted from where they stood. Loba followed, brushing past a slack-jawed Elliott who watched Bloodhound bound out of the door. He broke from his stupor in time to catch up with Loba, watching as Bloodhound scaled the side of the building, fearless to face the danger awaiting them at the rooftop.

Even face-to-face with the enemy, their heightened swiftness made them a nearly impenetrable target. Incoming bullets whizzed by them while theirs tore through rival shields. Loba materialized on the roof, accompanying the ambush, her hands wrapped firmly around the grip of her pistol. She targeted Rampart, the line of her chamber aligned with the head of her opponent as she fired around her amped cover. Her shots were critical, dead-on, sending the younger Legend to her knees before she could counter.

Anita cursed when Rampart fell. She diverted her fire from Bloodhound to Loba, her narrowed eyes sharp with intent. The rifle in her hand recoiled with every pump of the trigger, shot after shot reeling for her pistol-wielding opponent. Loba remained light on her heels, evading damage with quick strafes. She withdrew one hand from her Wingman, shimmying her bracelet from her wrist to her fingers before she sent it over her shoulder, vanishing with a kittenish smile and a delicate wave. The soldier gritted her teeth and chased after her, deploying a canister of smoke to camouflage her sprint. Fight in her eyes, she was _not_ about to let her escape. If anything, she was determined, keen on granting Loba a fate equal to the one she had given Rampart.

Elliott turned his eyes upward, following the translucent arc of Loba’s bracelet as it tumbled through the air. His Volt brandished, he ran forward, squinting through the enveloping billows for any sign of his teammate. “Loba?” he radioed for her, spinning on his heel when gunshots broke out. With both Legends veiled by smoke, he could only make out the dueling flashes of their muzzles, Anita’s rifle versus Loba’s handgun. Knitting his brow, he raised his weapon higher, struggling to discern which was friend and which was foe. “Loba?!”

Gunfire ceased. The smoke dissipated.

His heart dropped.

Loba, downed, clutched a bleeding wound on her side as she dragged herself across the earth and against a supply bin. Anita strutted forward with deliberate, paced confidence, mimicking the smile the thief had given her only minutes before. Dread welled up in Elliott’s chest, worsening when the soldier raised her weapon and administered a kill shot that froze him in his tracks. “You might’ve had a chance at savin’ her if you trained as much as you talked,” she quipped, turning to face him. “Do better, hot shot.”

His astonishment piqued when a deathbox materialized where Loba once lay. He tried to maintain a shred of resolve, tightening his grip on his weapon. “If you _must_ know, I train _half_ as much as I talk, thank you very much,” he answered, his voice mostly firm with a hint of levity. “You want better? I’ll give you better. Bring it on.”

Despite his weapon being pointed at her, Anita appeared unfazed. She stood her ground, turning her eyes to the roof of the adjacent building as she contemplated her next move. Her options were twofold – help Renee in her rooftop duel against Bloodhound or eliminate Elliott and earn another notch on her belt. Her confidence in her squadmate was solid. The hunter was an exceptional fighter, but Renee’s abilities were also resounding. Her mind set, Anita looked back to Elliott. She offered no retort, but instead launched a canister of smoke into the air, again masking her movements.

Elliott swore under his breath. Instinct told him to panic, but he kept still, following the sound of her footfalls as he searched for her silhouette. Anita shot first – a literal shot in the dark that proved surprisingly successful. Her carbine unloaded, driving nearly half of its magazine into his side. He buckled, but grasped the strength to turn and blindly return fire before he made his decoy escape and vanished into the surrounding smoke.

On the rooftop, Renee was relentless. Bloodhound was the type of foe that paled even the bravest fighters. The slightest error or misstep would no doubt spell her demise. She was incessant and accurate, pausing only briefly to reload her weapons and replenish her health. Unsurprisingly to her, Bloodhound kept up. They matched her not only in power, but in speed and technique. They were both superior fighters, able to counter and answer one another with the kind of precision and aptitude only the most elite could achieve.

Bloodhound continued to keep up, even as their eyes darted between Renee and the corner of their HUD. Confidence in Elliott aside, the hunter worried. How would he fare against Anita? Would her uncontainable hunger for the win lead dwarf him? The urge to help was _gnawing_.

The gunfight with Renee reached another momentary lull. Spared a moment to collect their bearings, Bloodhound crouched behind cover and yielded a shield cell, finding their breath while their armor recharged. The battle felt endless. Collectively, their resolve was unshakable. Both of them refused to let up, and yet both of them wished for a quicker end.

As the emptied cell dropped from their hands, an idea struck them. Their eyes returned to the battlefield ahead, and boldly, they stood, holstering their Prowler. “Normally, I would not ask this of a _ríkr_ fighter…” They reached for the axe on their hip, its polished blade glinting in the light of the sun. “But, the course of battle cannot always be predicted.”

Pleased, and a little surprised, the hint of a smirk curled her lip. She mimed them, holstering her weapon in favor for the kunai strapped to her leg. “I like your style,” she said plainly, twirling the weapon in her hand with finesse. “I’m in.”

Bloodhound braced, digging their boots into the surface beneath them. Their eyes tracked even the subtlest of her movements, their focus unbroken despite the continued firefight below. The sharpness of Renee’s icy eyes intensified. Her brow twitched, the whispering voices in her head warning her of the danger that may lie ahead. Lowering her stance, she dashed forward with her kunai readied, closing the gap between her and her opponent. Bloodhound grunted with the swing of their axe, but failed to strike their strafing foe. Instead, they exposed their flank, allowing Renee the opportunity to swipe the edge of her kunai against their side. The cut was short and shallow, but deep enough to draw blood. They hissed, their jaw clenched, a word of frustration leaving them in their native tongue. Returning upright, they swung again, this time striking her moments before she withdrew into the void, her wispy trail arching over the roof’s edge and toward the ground where either of their squadmates battled.

Bloodhound followed, propelling themself from the roof with a grunt. They landed on their feet in front of her, immediately resuming their attack. Her kunai met their axe, the metallic ping ringing in their ears again and again as strike after strike was blocked. Renee refused to let up. She kept light on her feet, dashing away when Bloodhound grew nearer, shuffling closer when they backed off.

With a grunt, she suddenly quickened her strikes. She nicked their arm. She cut their leg. She brought them to a knee, and a familiar ache in their chest dared to steal their breath. Bloodhound bowed their head, urging their mind to remain centered and focused, yearning their body to hone its strength and persevere. They _had_ to. To be in the arena was a blessing from the Gods, a testament to their resolve. This would not be their end.

A sound of struggle alerted them.

_Elliott._

They turned their head. They spotted him. Crouched behind cover, Elliott nursed a wound, administering a syringe straight into his arm. He had managed to keep Anita at bay with his gift of wit. His clones encircled, disoriented and aggravated her, giving him crucial time to heal and reload. In and out of the Ring, Bloodhound had openly admired his talent. Their own prowess had always been applauded and glorified by fans and fellow fighters. They marveled Elliott all the same. He was a master at his craft, superior in his field, and knowing the real man behind the persona of Mirage made their appreciation even greater.

Renee approached them, following their gaze. “Looks like he’s the one that needs your help this time.”

They tensed. Their eyes remained on him, their heart’s instinct to help him nearly overwhelming. They watched as Anita deployed another canister, veiling herself and Elliott in opaque billows of smoke. Unable to see him, worry settled deeper. They needed to get to him. They needed to help him. Their hand curled tighter around the grip of their axe as determination pulled them from the ground. They stood with a spin and a swing, meeting her blade with enough force to jar her hand.

Renee skirted back, twirling her kunai in her hand as she shook out her rattled wrist. “Alright. Let’s finish this.”

Her fair face paled even further when a bone-chilling shriek pierced the air. The red glow of bloodlust flooded the hunter’s goggles. She braced, trying to stand tall in what appeared to be the face of promised death. Bloodhound watched her like a ravenous predator faced with defenseless prey, their body tensing with every deep, guttural breath. She hardly had a moment to calculate her next move before they charged her, breaking her blocks with unprecedented strength. The force of their blows knocked her to the ground. Her kunai slipped from her fingers as her back met the earth. Disarmed and disoriented, she pulled herself onto her side, dipping her face to mask her pain.

Their approaching bootsteps thudded with intimidating deliberation, their eyes focused not on her, but the axe in their grip. “You have fought well, as a mighty warrior and a worthy foe.” They paused, looking down at her. “Embrace your end with pride.”

Her eyes widened as their arm came down for the killing blow. They knelt at her side, returning her fallen kunai to her hand with a ceremonious bow of their head. The sanguine hue of their goggles faded as they quickly looted her deathbox, restocking their supplies with haste. As they zipped their backpack, they shot their eyes toward Elliott – urgent, desperate.

Elliott’s tricks had started to become more vexing than perplexing. Anita stood still in the midst of his clones, listening out for the telling footfalls of her opponent. She identified the Legend amongst the fakes, charging him with fire in her dark eyes. He found his back against a crate, his neck pinned under her unrelenting forearm, his body immobile beneath her strength. His sub-machine gun clicked empty with every helpless pull of the trigger. He dropped it with trembling hands, scrambling for the sniper rifle strapped to his back when she pulled her arm away and dropped him at her feet.

“What was that you said earlier? ‘Bring it on?’” she teased him. “Yeah, you might want to walk that back, pretty boy.” A short laugh left her as she lifted her Kraber, nudging the muzzle against the crook of his jaw. “Hold still. This might sting a little.”

Elliott stared at his attacker, his eyes darting between the heart-twisting gleam in her eye and the merciless muzzle against his skin. His fate rested in her hands. Escape seemed preposterous, but so did quitting. Unthinkingly, he tried to writhe away, only to freeze in place when Anita bore down harder. Hopeless, he met her eyes before he closed his own, the image of Bloodhound painted on the backs of his eyelids as he prepared to meet his hard-fought end.

A shot struck the air.

He flinched. He froze. He waited for pain, for blackness, for silence.

It never came.

There was no pain, no blackness of silence.

Instead, there was relief.

Wary eyes fluttered open, and immediately, delight replaced his distress. Bloodhound, with their sniper aimed and poised, stood tall at Anita’s flank. The impact of their Triple Take made her buckle. Her body shield flickered, a bitten curse lost in a pained grunt. Before the hunter could fire a second shot, she shot a canister and made a double-time dash for cover. The wall of smoke hid her movements, temporarily. Bloodhound shouldered their sniper and tapped the device on their wrist, emitting a sonar ping that highlighted her crouched silhouette on their HUD. Without a moment wasted, they charged, connecting their shots even through the thick clouds of smoke.

Elliott pulled himself upright. As tempting as it was to watch Bloodhound in action, duty called him to act. He lifted from the ground and found his bearings, breaking out into a chase after the hunter. Adrenaline shot through him like lightning. This was it. This _had_ to be it. It was down to the wire.

Another scan from Bloodhound revealed Anita’s position. On his HUD, Elliott spotted her as she darted for cover. Without a second of hesitation, he propelled himself forward, through the smoke, toward the enemy, toward victory –

When the crack of a Kraber pierced the air.

Bloodhound froze mid-stride.

Billows dispersed. Silence resounded.

Their eyes grew wide. Time slowed.

Elliott fell, weightless, boneless, his limp body hitting the earth with a thud. His vision blurred as he looked up at the sky. His breathing heavied, his trembling lips unable to answer the familiar voice that called for him over the comms. Reality struck him as hard her Kraber had. He anticipated pain, but it never came. His body went into immediate shock. He hardly noticed the wound on his side until he managed to lift his head, spotting the torn-up gear scattered around him and the blood-soaked clothing that stuck to his skin.

With a heavy breath, he fell back again. His eardrums rang with dissonance. His head pounded with his heartbeat. Again, he heard them in his ear, repeating his name again and again until their voice wavered with welling emotion. He tried to answer, but found no strength. He turned his head, fighting to find and focus on them through his spinning vision. When he saw them, their helmet was turned toward him, worry apparent in the way they had frozen in place. The sight tugged at an ache in his chest, and despite it all, Elliott tried to give them a weary smile. The hunter mustered the faintest nod, their grip on their weapon trembling as their throat tightened with the threat of tears. His smile said everything to them that he could not voice.

Fight on. Finish strong.

The arena’s alarm tolled as if ceremoniously signaling the final fight. Bloodhound snapped back into focus, curling their finger around the trigger before they even turned and faced their opponent. The cleared smoke revealed Anita readied on the stairs of a structure before them, her weapon pointed at the hunter’s head. Bloodhound opened fire first, though a volley of bullets promptly answered their own, pinging off of their shields. The impact seemed to set ablaze a fire within them. Their hands tensed. Their goggles reddened. With a call to the Allfather, they charged, agile and swift, hungry for slaughter, victory and vengeance.

Their fast approach alarmed Anita. She acted quickly, snatching the flare off of her back to call in an artillery strike. Elliott watched with widened eyes as rows of missiles rained from the sky above, embedding in the ground with a rolling thud. He gritted his teeth, pushing himself upright and dragging himself to safety before the scattered detonations began. Pressing against the crate with his jaw clenched and his side grasped, he steadied his breath, trying to focus not on the pain of his wounds but the fullness in his heart. From his battleside position, he watched Bloodhound, admiring how the inexplicable force of nature’s strength guided their every move, every step, every shot. They were incredible – a true spectacle of power and grace, the epitome of prowess.

Gunfire duetted – loud, incessant. Even so, it threatened to serenade him into a tempting slumber. Elliott’s eyelids grew weighted. His mind grew hazy. A tinge of pain in his side jolted him like a shock of electricity, stealing his breath, numbing his consciousness. He fought the urge to drift off, peeling himself upright with a heavy groan. He urged himself to focus on them, to let their drive and determination keep him grounded to the present. His efforts proved useful, at least temporarily, and despite teetering on the edge of his own demise, he smiled. In matches past, victory had meant everything. It had meant fame, fortune, notoriety and everything else that came with the glamour of celebrity. This time, all of that meant nothing. Bloodhound trounced his former vices. Their return to the Ring was all he had wanted, and to witness firsthand their renewed strength was more he could have ever asked for.

The crooked smile on his face widened. “Go get ‘er, Hound,” he whispered, his vision flickering beneath heavying eyelids. “See you in the respawn chamber, babe.”

_“Elliott!”_

His eyelids fluttered.

The voice that called for him felt far away. Their voice.

_“Elliott!”_

He echoed them, faint. “H-Hound?”

_“Elliott!”_

His eyes opened fully, squinting at the mid-day sky. The sun blinded him, washing out the expanse of the arena that surrounded him, silhouetting the figure that hovered above him. Relief eased him immediately. Elliott recognized the helmeted face near to his own. His grimace gave way to smile, his hand extending for the side of their head. Visibly, Bloodhound relaxed. Their chest deflated with a held breath and an exhaled word of thanks to the Allfather, their hand gingerly resting on top of his own.

“My love, I am here for you.”

His tender smile brightened. “I can always count on you, can’t I, babe.”

“A promise made,” they said softly, an echo of words they had vowed to him earlier. “A promise kept.”

Elliott softened. His fingers were tender as they skirted their mask, as if toying with the thought of pulling it loose and guiding their lips to his. Bloodhound did not feel compelled to stop him. The arena around them seemed to fade. It was only them and Elliott, and a tip of their head invited him to unhinge the mask from their face. It hung by their jaw, their lips curving into a kind, tender smile –

The hunter flinched. As if anticipating an unimaginable ambush, they shielded Elliott with their body, shooting sharp eyes over their shoulder. However, their high-alert senses calmed at the sight before them. A celebration lit up the sky – budding trails of exploding fireworks and an accompanying rain shower of confetti. “Attention! A winner has been decided!” the announcer’s congratulations echoed. “You are the Apex Champion!”

Elliott huffed a laugh, delighted and awed. “We really…we really did it, huh.”

Their smile returned. They nodded, peeling away their glove to touch his cheek with their bare hand. “We did it,” they echoed his words. “Bless us. There is little that can wither the might of brethren. We fought strong. _You_ fought strong, _kærasti_. My pride is vast.”

Touched, he let out a breath through his nose and nestled his cheek into the comforting crook of their palm. He peered longingly into the fogged glass of their goggles, his eyes as dazed and dreamy as his smile. “I could say the same thing about you. And I will,” he answered them, slipping off their second glove. He threaded their fingers together, emphasizing his words with a squeeze as he said, “I am so, _so_ proud of you.”

His earnest words warmed their heart. Reflecting, they bowed their head. “…No longer does it pain me to recall that fateful day. That day, the Allfather had chosen for me a path different from my own – a path that led me to you.” Their heartfelt words hung in the air as they paused to look at him. “I love you, _ástin mín_. I owe you much gratitude.”

His expression melted. His heart swelled. His smile widened beneath the hand that cradled his cheek, his voice honeyed like his hazel eyes. “I love you…so much, Hound.”

Quietly, they hummed, brushing their fingers up his beard and through his hair. They wished more than anything that they could meet their smile with his, to seal their words with a kiss. For now, they cherished him with their gentle touch, savoring the delight painted warmly on his handsome face, adoring the way he simply looked at them.

As his adrenaline dipped, however, the crease of his brow deepened and twitched. Elliott tried to stifle a groan, shifting in the spot he lay on the ground. Bloodhound shook their head, comforting him by again combing their fingers through his hair. “Rest, my love. Your body has endured much this day,” they urged gently. They tipped their chin to the sky, exhaling a breath of relief at the far-away sound of an incoming dropship. “Help approaches. You will soon have aid.”

He took in a trembling breath and nodded, following their gaze. A bit of humor pulled at the corner of his mouth as a notion dawned on him. “This…feels a lot like déjà vu,” he chuckled airily, looking back to them. “Doesn’t it?”

They echoed his laugh with their own, musing over the moment’s far-too-familiar feeling. “That, it does.” Their hand returned to his cheek, thumbing over his skin with a touch so loving. “This time, I will take care of you, as you have taken care of me. Fate brought us together, _kærasti_ …” They paused, touching their forehead to his. “And love will unite us. Forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again <3


End file.
